Running for Home
by SilverDragonsFlame
Summary: My new school year checklist: Scholarship to a good school? Check. Move in with Aunt Paige? Check. Change my name? Check.
1. A new day, a new game

**Running for Home**

**Chapter One - A new day, a new game**

Author's note: This plot bunny came to me based on a quote from the movie, when The Commander is angry about the sidekick placement, and says "For the tuition we pay them?" I started to wonder about the superkids who couldn't afford it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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So, this was Sky High, I thought as the bus touched down and I forced my breakfast back down into my stomach from where it had tried to make a great escape during that tortuous bus ride. When I'd gotten on the bus that morning it had looked like any other school bus, and I could only hope it was the right one as I silently made my way to the back of the bus, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I had not been prepared, at all, for it to suddenly leap into the air after leaving the downtown area and take us on a roller coaster ride into the clouds.

I kind of thought the hot guy sitting across the aisle from me wasn't all that thrilled about it either. And by hot, I didn't just mean how good looking he was (which was VERY, by the way). His arms were on fire, held pretty tensely at his sides, and he looked rather green under the fire's glow reflected on his face.

"What are you looking at," he growled, as the flames died down.

"Nothing," I replied, and then, unable to keep my mouth shut and my unfortunately quirky sense of humor to myself, "Just wishing I had some marshmallows."

The flames came back to life on his hands as they clenched and for a second, I feared I had just offered myself up to be barbecued, but instead, it seemed I would live another day as he took a deep breath, unclenched his hands, and made a quick exit.

Great, 30 seconds at my new school, and I'm already making friends, just like Aunt Paige had said I would be as she rushed me out the door of the apartment this morning. Just like the counselor at my old school had said I would. Everyone had failed to tell me that this would be occurring ten thousand feet in the air.

I'd figured Sky High was just a name, you know, like whoo-hoo-the-sky's-the-limit-for-us-superhero-folk, or like, a superhero named Sky had saved the city of Metropolis, so let's name a superhero high school after him. Or her.

The superhero high school I'd gone to for my freshman year had been located on the ground, like a school should be. Of course, this new school was a good deal more expensive than Powers High School, and naturally could afford to be kept in the air with the latest in anti-gravity technology, as I heard a girl explain in a tour-guide-like-manner as she passed me, followed by a bunch of gawking students I could only assume were freshmen.

I quickly controlled my expression, hoping I hadn't looked like those freshmen as I'd been examining the outside of the school building. I mean, hello, I was a sophomore and should show a bit more maturity. And yeah, I was the only sophomore transfer student, so might be granted some leniency when it came to the gawking-at-the-school-and-at-the-amazing-and-somewhat-quesifying-distace-we-are-from-the-ground factor. But in no way did I want to stand out any more than I already did from my classmates.

Because, not only was I the single transfer student to be attending Sky High this year, but I was also one of the few scholarship students, a scholarship, I might add, that had only been given to a kid like me because the principal at my previous school, on the other side of the country, was the founder of said school and brother-in-law to Principal Powers of Sky High.

See, it really is who you know that matters more than, say, for example, who your parents are.

Now, what to do on my first day of Sky High… You know, someone really ought to publish a new student checklist. Or maybe even a book. The Dummies Guide to Being a New Student. Or maybe, First Day of School Dos and Don'ts. I think I'd buy that one. Something to tell me how to act, where to go, what to do, what to wear, who to talk to without sounding or appearing to be a sad little know-nothing (even if that was, in fact, what I was), and how to not appear like the new student freak (even if that was, in fact, how I felt).

I surreptitiously checked out the scene on the lawn in front of the school. Let's see…a long-stretchy, freaky looking kid doing flips up and down the front stairway, kind of like a human-slinky. So, apparently, it was acceptable to flaunt and show off your powers on the front lawn. Note to self. Okay, what else… A couple of kids who appeared to have the power of flight were touching down in what looked like a large, paved landing zone. Oh wait, only one of them could actually fly. When I got a glimpse of the back of the other two, they were shrugging off backpack sized jet-packs. I wondered if this was the Sky High equivalent of showing up to school in your own BMW convertible. Then again, I don't know what the going rate is for jet-packs (weird, I must just keep missing THAT Wal-mart aisle), so it could just be the superhero equivalent of upper classmen driving their own cars to school. There was also a really pretty ice sculpture of a couple of…oh good grief, were those students!

Heh, tour of the front lawn SO over, I rushed up the steps and through the imposing front doors located under the rather large Sky High sign. Now, this was where a guidebook would come in handy. It appeared that most of the new students (yeah, read that as freshmen) either knew older students who went to school here and were willing to help their newbie friends out, or were following the beautiful and preppy tour guide to their destination. And since I had no clue as to where I was supposed to go, I followed the tour-guided students and tried to pretend that I was really just walking in the same direction as them.

I ended up in a large assembly of new students where Principal Powers appeared and gave us a welcome speech. I recognized her from the brief meeting I'd had with her at the end of my freshman year when my counselor and my principal were trying to get me into Sky High. Not knowing if this was the type of school where we were buddy-buddy with the administration, or whether being acknowledged by the administration was akin to being branded with a geek label, I tried to hide my face and keep my head down. But when I heard the words "Power Placement," my head snapped up and my eyes went wide. And when I heard a few students nearby explaining to others within their group about hero tracks and loser tracks, I wanted to melt into the floor. Awww shitake mushrooms, what kind of elitist school was this?

While I was obsessing over my pretty-much-set-in-stone-loser-track-for-my-high-school-life, Principal Powers whisked herself away in a flash of pretty lights and what had to be the gym teacher rose up out of the floor. Hmm, drama queen much? Apparently his power didn't allow for grand entrances like Principal Powers, so he made up for it by rising from under the gym. Greeeat. And his opening tough-guy speech pretty much confirmed the idea that this was not one of those cuddly-teddy-bear teachers you could talk out your problems with.

It was as I was contemplating the question of whether these teachers actually existed or if they only made appearances in cheesy movies and TV show scenes, when I suddenly got the feeling that I was missing something, snapped out of my reverie, and realized this Coach Boomer guy was calling my name. Heh, my name, first one on his clipboard list. Great.

I still don't automatically answer to Nevaeh. It still takes some people calling it two or three times before I'm snapped out of my daydreams. I guess that's what happens when you're forced to give up the name you've been called for the last fifteen years and choose a new one.


	2. Under the Radar

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Two – Under the Radar**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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The rest of the students were still looking around for the kid Coach Boomer was calling on. Probably figured that since no one had spoken up yet, this Nevaeh kid was probably shaking in their boots at being called on first to power up in front of everyone.

However, today's instance of my non-immediate answer to my new name was only partially due to the fact that I was still waiting to hear Coach Boomer call on me as Jenny Conway. The other reason I didn't recognize me new name? Coach Boomer was mispronouncing it. It wasn't until he resorted to booming "NIVEA TYLER" that I realized he meant me.

I'm allowed to be a little irritated by that, right? I mean, I spent a lot of time choosing my new name, Heaven spelled backwards. What could project more innocence than that? So I might not have been using my best new-student-aiming-to-fly-under-the-radar tone when I answered his boom with the correct pronunciation. "Nevaeh. Na-vay-uh."

I admit, I already knew how this Power Placement thing was going to go, and had known since I first heard the words. Yeah, that's me, on the Loser Track for life.

I guess the whole pronunciation issue didn't exactly endear me to the coach, who already looked pretty peeved. And that fact that before he could even motion me up the stairs to his little platform, I raised my hand, pointed to myself and said, "Sidekick" seriously didn't help my case.

It really took the wind out of his power-tripping sails. "Are you refusing to power up?"

I hadn't really been thinking of it like that. Maybe I should have just let him do the assigning. I hadn't meant to be a smart ass. But honestly, admitting myself to be of Sidekick status seemed like such a timesaver. Here, I'll label myself a loser, you can move on. If it had gone down that way, the other students would only have stayed focused on me for like, 3.4 seconds. Instead, it now seemed as though he wanted a bit of an explanation.

"I'm here to learn to control and use my powers," I began. "I don't think powering up and exposing everyone here—"

Coach Boomer interrupted my explanation, booming, "SIDEKICK!"

I blinked. Okay, way to go, bro. Take back that label-making power. Essentially, I got what I wanted, which was to just go straight to Sidekick, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Little did I know that speaking up during power placement was one of the fastest ways to get noticed around here. Especially in front of a bunch of nervous, timid, scared witless freshmen.

When Boomer went to call his next victim, he realized why I had been at the top of his list. I wonder if it said "Sophomore Transfer" in big, red, flashing lights or if he just finally noticed that I wasn't included in the freshmen roster on his list. Either way, he gave me his best I-shall-intimidate-you-into-the-ground stare, put his fists on his hips, and sent me off to Sophomore Sidekick class.

I refrained from saluting him as I left the class (it was a SERIOUS struggle not to do so), but I'm not really a smart ass and I really did want to just glide through my first few days here and get a lay of the land. A read on the sitch. See whether this was a school I just might be able to fit into, or if it was going to be a tortuous hell that I would just have to exist through for another three years.

"Hoover Dam!" I muttered, as stepped into the hallway and realized I still had no idea where my class was, or where I was supposed to go. So far, that whole it's-a-coin-toss-as-to-whether-I'll-fit-or-exist was starting to look like a rigged coin with both sides showing up as tortuous hell.

The good news was the first bell hadn't actually rung yet…if they had bells at this school. At least, everyone was still in the hallways. The bad news was the bell rang a second later, and I still had no idea where to go, and my cowardly nerves still wouldn't allow me to just step up and ask someone.

And then, low and behold, through the quickly thinning crowds, I spotted an old friend. Well, perhaps friend wasn't quite the right word, but at least it was a familiar face. Even if the familiar part about it was the I'm-gonna-barbecue-you expression.

"So, even though I'm assuming that in this nicely segregated school and with those pretty flames and great control that you're a Hero, any chance you know where I might find the sophomore Sidekick class?" I asked as I stepped up beside him, then had to run to keep up with him as he made no move whatsoever to stop and help me out. Then again, maybe he was still ticked about the marshmallow comment. Honestly, it wasn't meant to be an insult to him or anything…just the first thing that came to mind.

"I didn't mean anything by what I said earlier," I explained as he continued to walk without even glancing my way. "I just seem to have an overactive brain-mouth connection, and usually say the first thing that comes to mind without thinking about it."

He continued to walk.

"It's a fatal flaw really. And people say that when I get nervous, I get chatty, and honestly, first day nerves are hitting me pretty badly right about now, so the chances of me shutting up before you help me are about the chances that you have some spare marshmallows and a roasting stick on you right now."

I think it was the marshmallow comment that finally got his attention. Either way, he finally stopped and glared at me. I gave him my best grin and hoped I didn't look like I was a loser who wanted to run and hide and was just trying to hold her ground (which I was). "Sophomore Sidekick class. Back past the gym, third door on your left."

I grinned, this time for real. "Thanks," I said. I was about to ask his name (he was cute, I was chatty, it's part of that whole fatal flaw thing) when he took off walking again, and in the opposite direction of where I needed to be headed. Okay then, right, time to move on to my sad little sidekick class.

I hurried back in the direction I had come from and slid into what I hoped was the right classroom and not the boys' locker room (which would have seriously fit into the tortuous hell scenario) as the second bell rang.

The good news was that everyone was fully clothed and it was a balanced ratio of guys and girls. Bad news was everyone was staring at me. Oh right, they'd all had class together last year and I was the new kid. Fun times ahead for all.

The teacher looked at her clipboard. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened her mouth again and asked, "Miss Tyler?"

Figuring that she had probably been about to ask if I was Nevaeh, but unsure of the pronunciation, I replied, "I'm Nevaeh Tyler." Ha, clear up that whole weird name, figuring out how to say it right from the beginning. See, I could get the hang of having an unordinary name. It would just take awhile, going from a name like Jenny to Nevaeh.

"Right. Nevaeh. I'm Miss Watson. Well, take a seat wherever, and class, let's get started. I'm assuming everyone had a good, uneventful summer. No mysterious mall mishaps?"

Half the class giggled as a girl in the front row held her hands up in an I'm-innocent gesture. "I swear, it wasn't me! It was that power-stealing freak Josh!"

The class laughed, the teacher smiled, and I was left to wonder as Miss Watson started right in on the lesson. But I didn't mind being left out so much as I moved to the back of the classroom. So far, it seemed like an okay group to be thrust into.

As soon as I sat down, the girl in front of me and the guy beside her turned around towards me.

"Hey, aren't you the one who mouthed off to Coach Boomer?" the girl whispered.

I gave a sickly nervous smile, "It wasn't quite like that…"

The guy piped up, "And didn't I just see you with Warren Peace?"

Shitake mushrooms, so much for my under-the-radar plan. "Warren Peace?"

"Longish hair, red streaks, Baron Battle's son," the girl explained.

Baron Battle's son. THE Baron Battle. Aw, crap!


	3. I'm Limited

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Three – I'm Limited**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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Well, never let it be said that I wore my emotions on my sleeve. Even though finding out who the cute fire-boy was had nearly caused me to swallow my tongue (partly in shock, partly in disappointment), I managed to keep a straight face (and the power to breathe). I saved myself from having to respond to the info they had just imparted by pretending to really pay attention to what Miss Watson was saying. The guy and the girl shrugged, but turned back around, thank the powers that be for small favors.

It wasn't until Miss Watson wrote down our class schedule that I finally began to feel a little less nervous about being at Sky High. See, everything is better once you know what you're doing. Sidekick math, Sidekick history, Sidekick power development, Sidekick English, Sidekick art, Sidekick color coordination (oh good LORD, just shoot me now!), Sidekick theory, Sidekick current events, Sidekick music (apparently, we were in charge of developing our hero's theme music – why none of the Sidekicks in history had ever used this privilege for nefarious or somewhat spiteful purposes, I will never understand), and General P.E. Drop me dead in shock, they actually allowed us to mingle with the Heroes! Cue waving of the hand fan and a Scarlett O'Hara eyelash batting. Of course, this could just be a chance to further humiliate sidekicks whose powers didn't have the oomph or destructive capability of heroes' powers.

Ehh, I shrugged mentally, my Sidekick schedule didn't really bother me. After all, I had requested Sidekick placement. The one class I was really looking forward to was power development. Sidekick or not, THIS was the reason I continued to attend a superpower high school, even after last year.

During Sidekick history, we had to get into groups of two or three. The two overly curious fellow students in front of me immediately turned their desks around and grinned.

The guy stuck out his hand. "I'm Rick, I can create fog." I shook his hand and nodded at the girl. Rick continued his intro, "This is Jillian; she causes laughter."

Okay, had I heard that one wrong? "Laughter?"

Jillian's grin was mostly evil as she looked towards another student, who soon started laughing uncontrollably, to the point where he was lying on the floor, clutching his stomach, before Miss Watson rolled her eyes and told Jillian to stop tormenting poor Alan.

I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting power. Haven't seen that one before."

She shrugged. "It's kind of like a spin-off of an empath's projection power, only not as powerful as full-on empathy. And I might have even made Hero if I hadn't used Coach Boomer for my power demonstration. He REALLY didn't like being out of control like that."

I could guess, seeing as how he'd nearly flipped when I'd tried to place myself, and that was only a minor, momentary loss of power and control. "I wonder how he reacts to telepaths?"

Rick grinned. "Even if he loses some measure of control when they read his thoughts, he still places them as Heroes, if only to keep them from spilling any secrets they read from him."

Miss Watson interrupted our conversation with an assignment – our group had to debate and decide who was the greatest superhero in history and write three paragraphs.

Seemed easy enough, right? SOOOO not! Our group had a very definite difference of opinion when it came to that question. Obviously, there was The Commander, whom Rick was pulling for all the way. Jillian was set on Wonder Woman. And me? This was a new line of thought for me, though I could tell, based on the debate going on around the room, that this was the type of normal family dinner discussion that most everyone experienced.

Jillian and Rick were looking at me, waiting for an answer. Remember that overactive brain-connection thing? I said the first name that popped into my head, "Batman."

They looked at me like I was on crack. "It has to be a REAL superhero," Rick pointed out, with more than just a touch of disgust in his tone.

Okay, time for me to argue my case, thanks to my inability to just keep my mouth shut and nod and go along with everyone else. "Batman WAS real. He might not have had any superpowers, but THAT'S what makes him the greatest – think about all that he was able to do without any powers."

Well, I had made my case and at least put something forth. And for this, I was rather proud of myself. I mean, it's not like I had a lot of material to choose from. This wasn't the type of dinner discussions we had had at my house while I was growing up, and we hadn't really covered superhero history in my freshman class at my other school. So, uninformed or not, I was proud of myself for what I had been able to offer.

Of course, The Commander won in the end and Rick quickly scribbled out three paragraphs based on his and Jillian's ideas. I remained conspicuously quiet. Maybe my groupmates thought I was sulking over not having my hero chosen, which was actually not the case. Really, I just had nothing to offer in the way of praising The Commander. Most of the adjectives I had ever heard used to describe him were not of the flattering variety.

I made it through the rest of the morning without any other instances that might showcase my ignorance when it came to certain topics. And it wasn't until we were all leaving for lunch that I experienced another of those moments that demonstrated just how truly different I was from my super peers.

I was one of the last ones to make an exit, Rick and Jillian just ahead of me, when I heard Miss Watson call out, "Miss Lockwood? May I have a moment of your time?"

My blood froze at the name Lockwood, my step faltered, and I kind of stumbled into the hallway as I waited to see who would respond. Just my luck, Jillian turned around, and walked back into the classroom. The door closed behind her.

Even though my stomach began to cramp something awful and all I really wanted to do was just lie on the floor and wait for the pain to pass, which it always did, I just about ran as far from that classroom as I could while trying not to double over. I probably looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as I scurried down the hallway, but right then, I really didn't give a damn. All I cared about was finding an empty room and allowing myself to catch my breath, away from everyone else, and get my equilibrium back.

I saw a darkened classroom and darted in, practically slamming the door shut behind me and leaning against it. I felt like a snowman melting in July as I slowly sank to the floor. I tried to clear my head by letting it fall backwards and pounding it against the door a few times. You know how that always seems to make people feel better in the movies? Yeah, this wasn't Hollywood, it did nothing to help my swirling emotions, and only added the pain of headache on top of my twisted stomach.

When I'd enrolled last spring, I'd been told that I would be going to school with the daughter of Mary "Visine" Lockwood, the son of James "Voltage" Windsor, and the daughter of Kenneth "Spitfire" Abrams. Being forewarned of this was one of the reasons I had so readily changed my name. And I'd been mentally preparing myself for the chances that I might run into one of these students…but as it turned out, nothing could have actually prepared me for it.

Maybe I'd been kidding myself when I'd thought I could do this, when I thought I could just continue to go to a super high school as though everything was all right. Maybe those students at my other school were right and I would do better to just pretend I didn't exist, pretend I didn't have any superpowers, pretend I knew nothing of this world, and just go to a regular high school.

Then again, ignoring the fact that I had a power? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. As I'd already figured out, it didn't work. And the reason I continued to attend a super school was so that I could control that power. Use it the way it was meant to be used.

Reminding myself of my goal, I stood up, straightened my back, and mentally forced my stomach to quit tying itself in knots. I took a deep breath. Right, I could do this.

And it was time for my next challenge: lunch. And the cafeteria.

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Author's note: Much thanks to reviewers Nival Vixen, Godsgirl91, Kara Adar, inTHEgrid is where i live, and PadFootCC. I got the biggest, goofiest grin on my face when I read the reviews!


	4. The Cross that I'm Bearing

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Four – The Cross that I'm Bearing**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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What might possibly be the oddest thing about going to the same school as Warren Peace was that I knew he was the one student I should stay away from at all costs, and yet, because of this, he was the one student I was drawn to the most. Which would probably help explain the whole lunch fiasco.

I had entered the cafeteria and immediately started searching for a table to sit at. This had to be the worst part about starting a new school – figuring out the cafeteria dynamics. Which table held which group of kids? What if I chose the wrong table and somebody sitting there kicked me off or started laughing or worse, they ignored me throughout the whole lunch then left the cafeteria giggling and gossiping about the freak that had been sitting with them. And I couldn't sit with the only two students I had actually met that morning for obvious stomach-clenching-stopping-eating-ability reasons.

So I did what any sane high school student would do – or at least, if they were the type of sane high school student that had purposely volunteered themselves for the loser track.

I sat at an empty table.

And since I was quite willing to admit to my loser status, I pulled my little brown bag lunch out of my messenger bag. Go me!

"You're sitting at my table," somebody growled behind me as they plunked their tray down.

I turned and saw none other than Warren Peace sitting himself down in the seat next to me. Crap!

I contemplated moving, but quickly saw a few problems with that solution: a) by now, most of the seats were filled and I had no desire to try to figure out where to sit and who to sit with, and b) if I moved now, it might be seen as a sign of weakness, that I would just let others push me around, which would make me a total target for Hero bullies – I may as well go ahead and paint a big old red bull's-eye on my shirt.

There were, of course, problems with the solution of staying where I was, namely that it would be like aligning myself with Warren Peace, with Baron Battle's son, and I had no doubt that if the administration didn't like that alliance, and if they wanted to, they could find some legal excuse to revoke my scholarship. Which would leave me up a creek without a paddle.

I couldn't afford to lose my scholarship. Looking around at the rest of the Sky High student body, I admit, I was a little impressed that there were so many students whose parents paid the astronomical Sky High Tuition (see, now that was another reason it could have been called Sky High!). Heroes must be paid pretty good money around here in order for all these kids to afford it. Then again, I could have afforded to go to school here too, if I had kept my parents' money, after my dad had been killed on the job and my mom thrown in jail. Well, okay, my dad hadn't been killed _on_ the job, so much as _during_ a job. You know, when he and my mom had tried to take over southern California.

Just as well, then, that their bank accounts, domestic and foreign, had been seized by the government in order to make restitution and pay for damages that occurred during their short-lived reign of terror. I doubt Sky High would accept money from the daughter of two supervillains.

In the end, the threat of bullies seemed more imminent than the possible threat of the administration taking a dislike to my sitting with Baron Battle's son. My decision to stay seated was helped by glancing around the cafeteria just once and seeing at least three hero-bullying-sidekick situations.

After all that stress and deliberation on my part, turns out I needn't have worried. It didn't seem to matter much if I was sitting at the same table as Warren Peace; his body might have been there, but his mind was definitely somewhere else. I glanced back and forth a couple of times, just to make sure I wasn't imagining it, but if his fire power had come from his eyes rather than his hands, the student sitting at the table in front of us would have been roasted to a well done crisp by now.

They say curiosity killed the cat. Good thing my powers don't include me shape-shifting into anything of the feline variety. "Why are you looking at that kid as if you wish you had laser stare-of-death powers?" I asked.

I kind of figured he would ignore me, his attention was so focused on this other student, but lo and behold, he actually answered. "That's Will Stronghold."

I did a double take and I think my eyebrows might have risen all the way to my hairline. That scrawny freshman? "THAT'S Will Stronghold?"

A minor, affirmative-like grunt was all the answer I got from Warren.

"His dad's The Commander and his mom is Jetstream?" Even though I knew who the Stronghold's were, the disbelief that this was their son made me double check.

At least this time, Warren nodded in reply, rather than just giving me a half-sound.

"So where do you come in?" I asked, without really thinking the question through. I suppose it just took me a while to connect the dots and for my brain to catch up to mouth. "Oh, right, his dad busted your dad. Quadruple life sentence. No chance of parole until after his third life."

Warren actually took the time to shift his glare from Will to me, if only for a millisecond, before shifting back to Stronghold. Oops. Open mouth, insert foot.

"And now you've decided to make him your archenemy?"

Warren glared at me again. "Something like that. Got a problem?"

He went back to giving Stronghold the stare of death and I went back to watching Warren. He seemed so angry and bitter. It definitely made me stop and think.

I mean, was I supposed to be like this? It was kind of weird to interact with another supervillain's kid. And to compare my reactions to his. The Commander had been Barron Battle's downfall. The Stronghold duo had also taken part in bringing down my parents. While Warren blamed The Commander, I fully blamed my parents for being rather psychotic and power hungry.

I admit, I don't know the exact details of Barron Battle's last…well, battle. I remember my parents discussing it (okay, so it was more of a homicidal rage that destroyed half my house rather than a discussion), but I tended to ignore anything and everything that had to do with their criminal inclinations. So I really couldn't say whether Warren had a reason to be angry with The Commander…

Or if he was just channeling his anger towards a person he _thought_ he should be angry at. Me? I'm guess I'm pissed off at my parents. They're the ones who tried to conquer key areas of southern California, they're the ones who killed many people while doing so, and they're the ones who essentially ruined my life as I knew it. The Commander, Jetstream, and the rest of the Heroes that had stepped up to bring them down? I wouldn't exactly be throwing them a congratulations party, but I didn't hate them.

Which brought back my curiosity. What was it like to feel that much anger and bitterness? And how much of it was anger and how much of it was just pain Warren didn't want to acknowledge, even to himself? Was part or most of the anger he channeled towards The Commander really coming from the rage he felt towards his father, but wouldn't admit to because you're supposed to love your parents, not hate them? Was there something wrong with _me_ for not hating those who had defeated my own parents? All those feelings bottled up inside of Warren Peace – was this how I should have felt?

All I felt was empty. When I thought of my parents, I didn't actually feel anything – no anger, no love, no sorrow, no joy, no hate. And when I compared this to the feelings that almost emanated from Warren in waves? I had to know.

"What are you looking at?" Warren asked. I suppose he got tired of staring at Stronghold and turned to find me staring at him.

I shrugged, managing to keep my mouth shut. One of those rare instances. Everything about him just seemed so different from myself, and I simply couldn't help it. The usual extreme control I kept over my power? I let it slip, opening for just a fraction of a second.

And was blown up and across the room and through the cafeteria windows, hitting the ground with an amazingly loud thud, which was the last thing I remembered before blacking out.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers inTHISgrid is where i live, Lady Knight19, papersoul, Readerfreak10, Nival Vixen, and 2oopm. --waves hands in mystic circular motions-- All questions shall be answered soon…well, maybe not too soon because that might kill my intrigue buzz. But soon enough :)


	5. Heaven Help Me for the Way I Am

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Five – Heaven Help Me for the Way I Am**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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There were about a dozen itsy-bitsy gnomes running around inside my skull, all had hammers, and all were pounding mercilessly on my brain. One booming word, "SIDEKICK!" was echoing through my skull, making the gnomes pound faster.

At least, that's how I felt when I woke up, with a killer headache and more than a few choice words just waiting to spew forth.

But old habits die hard and all of the training that my parents shoved into my head after my first time being kidnapped (when I was seven) came back to me very quickly: when you wake up in a strange situation, don't move, don't change your breathing, give no indication that you've woken up. Take a minute to figure out where you are, where the exits are, and how many people are in the room. Do any of them have any obvious powers, how quickly can you take them, are you tied or chained to anything that could hinder an escape attempt?

All those tips came in right handy during my second and third kidnappings, allowing me to escape without waiting for a dang rescue team, and I employed them now. Just in case, you know.

First things first, there's me. I was lying on my stomach, on some crinkly paper covering a plastic cushion, and I could feel bandages taped to my back. My naked back. Aw, crap, where was my shirt!

"Ah, you're awake."

Hoover Dam! I must not be as good at playing unconscious as I was when I was twelve. No matter, I realized with a groan, since I was in what had to be the school nurse's office and not some dank and dingy basement. Everything from lunch came flooding back to me. Including my spectacular flight through the cafeteria windows.

"My back?" I asked, trying to reach up a hand to feel the bandages, but failing as my arm felt like a lead pipe and I let it fall to hang over the side of the table I was laying on.

"I had to pull quite a few shards of glass, you know. You should really be more careful about who you sit with at lunch."

That was a weird little piece of advice, but I was too concerned with the fact that I was nekkid from the waist up to puzzle over it just yet. I spotted a hospital gown lying on the chair next to my oh-so-comfortable table and grabbed it. Pulling it over my arms as I sat up, I managed to stay decently covered while I got my bearings.

Yup. Nurse's office. Right down to the jar of popsicle-stick-like tongue depressors.

There was another student with an ice pack held to her head, sitting on a chair by the nurse's desk. We nodded to each other in that awkward we-don't-know-each-other-but-we're-in-the-same-place way.

"You two stay here, and don't move," the nurse ordered. "I need to fetch a few things."

I watched her bustle out of the room. She kind of reminded me of a cuckoo clock bird. A scary cuckoo clock bird.

As soon as the door closed, the other student took the ice pack off her head and started tossing it back and forth between her hands. She must have noticed the look I was giving the nurse, or at least the door she had left through. "You're that new sophomore sidekick, right?"

Hey, look, good news travels fast. I nodded.

"That was Nurse Spex. X-ray vision. She's alright. I'm Tara. Junior sidekick. I bounce," she said, with more than a hint of pride in her voice.

"Bounce?"

"Bounce. You know, like Tigger, only without the song and I stay on my feet, no tail. It might be a lame power, worthy only of a sidekick, but it's fun," she informed me, grinning. I smiled back at her. That _was_ kind of cool.

And I was starting to get the hang of how to introduce oneself at Sky High. Name, status, and power. Right. "I'm Nevaeh." Hey, just because I understand, doesn't mean I have to follow along. Plus, it seemed like she already knew who I was. Well, not really who I was, but the innocent, heavenly, new me I was supposed to be.

That's me, new kid trying to fly under the radar and instead I'm flying through windows.

"You don't seem that put out to be a sidekick," I pointed out (maybe not all that tactfully, but hey, it's the first thing I noticed about her). A lot of the people at Sky High seemed touchy about the Hero vs Sidekick issue, but this Tara girl seemed to enjoy being who she was.

She kind of waved her hand in a whatever manner. "My mom's a sidekick. My two older brothers are sidekicks and my younger sister will probably be one too. It's beginning to seem like a family tradition."

See, now _that_ seemed like a real family tradition, instead of the ones from my family that usually included destruction and mayhem and perhaps collapsing the law and order in a third world country.

"Then again, it would be nice to be a Hero and be pretty much worshipped at this school. After that stunt Flame-boy pulled at lunch, Principal Powers only gave him one after school detention. One!" Tara exclaimed, wincing as her voice got louder with indignation, and she reapplied the ice pack to the top of her head.

"Wait, what?" I did a double take. Warren Peace had been blamed for my little flying stunt? Ruh-roh. "Peace got a detention?"

Tara nodded. "Heroes get all the breaks. I mean, he blows you through a window, and all he gets is detention!"

The real story about what had happened at lunch got stuck in my throat, and I was just barely able to catch myself before I confessed that it had been my power, _not_ Warren's, that had blown me like a leaf on the wind out onto the lawn.

But I couldn't confess. I couldn't tell the truth. It would be way too easy to connect the dots. My old school counselor, principal, Aunt Paige, and even Principal Powers had worked too hard to hide me for me to blow it all by telling another student that what had happened at lunch had been my mistake.

"Huh. An after school detention." I shrugged to show that Warren Peace's punishment wasn't all that important to me. Even though it was. I had to get out of here. I hopped off the table and looked around the room. "Did you see where Nurse Spex put my clothes?"

"Yeah, over there by the sink. I think she was going to try and rinse the blood out, but figured it would be a waste of time."

Aw, nuts! That did not sound good. Upon closer inspection, the clothes were beyond repair and DEFINITELY beyond useable for the rest of the day.

"Good to see you know how to follow directions," I heard Nurse Spex say as she opened the door. Dang that X-ray vision! I sheepishly went back to my oh-so-comfy table.

She addressed Tara first. "You can go now. That aspirin should begin to take effect in a few minutes. Avoid bouncing into the ceiling from now on."

Tara grinned at me and raised an eyebrow as she exited the office. Then Nurse Spex turned to me.

"You're somewhat in luck. I was able to pick up your P.E. uniform. You'll just have to wear it for the rest of the day. And if you plan to make a habit of flying through windows and shredding the clothes on your back, literally, you should consider keeping an extra outfit here at school," Nurse Spex advised as she passed me a shirt and pulled one of those little plastic curtains around my table to offer me what little privacy was available.

I shook out the red and blue material and a white, ribbed undershirt fell out from where it had been folded inside my so-very-fashionable gym shirt. Well, not as good as a bra, but then, I admitted ruefully, I didn't have all that much needing support.

Dressing quickly, I decided it was time to book it out of there and get back to my exciting world of Sidekick sophomore curriculum.

I drew back the white curtain. "Is it alright for me to go back to class?" I asked.

Nurse Spex looked at me, and even though I knew she wasn't using her X-ray vision, I couldn't help feeling as if she was able to see through me. Through the charade, through the lies, through the name change and hidden truth. Course, it could always just be the guilt I felt at getting Warren Peace in trouble and being unable to do anything about it.

And even if the nurse could see all that, she still nodded, and I got out of that room about as fast as I had gone out the window. Almost knocked down Will Stronghold in the process (not that it seemed all that hard to do – I still couldn't believe this little bit of scrawn was the son of The Commander!) as he entered the nurse's office.

So Principal Powers had given Warren a detention for somehow blowing me out the window. And how was he supposed to have done that? Some new development of his powers or just another weird Sky High occurrence? Powers had to have known that it was my power, not his, that had caused my little birdie routine. After all, she knew about everything that had gone down in California. But she had been covering for me. As reluctant as she had been to allow me entry AND a scholarship to Sky High, she'd still covered for me by blaming Warren.

Which meant that as guilty as I felt, I couldn't go around explaining that it had been my empath-powers-gone-wrong, not Warren's fire power that had thrown me up up and away. That it had been my fault, not Warren's.

Yeah, definitely my own fault. I knew better than to open my shields to an elemental. And not just any elemental, but a FIRE elemental? I'm lucky to have woken up at all.

I mean, seriously, even a beginner empath knows better than that! It's basic common sense. 101. The fact that I had grown up with an empath parent, starting to learn rules and cautions about the same time I learned to walk because there'd always been the possibility of my inheriting my dad's empath powers, only made my mistake that much worse.

I used to watch my mom blow things up with her hands, watch her destroy our house during one of my parents' fights, and pray I'd get my dad's power, which in my childhood mind seemed like such a better, less dangerous, less destructive power than my mom's.

I'd been an idiot back then, allowing myself a moment of bitterness, to not realize just how dangerous my dad was. How dangerous the power of empathy was.

Is.

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Author's note: Thanks to Nival Vixen, Lady Knight19, inTHEgrid is where i live, Kara Adar, papersoul, 2oopm, and BlackBirdDaeth for taking the time to review!


	6. Never Meant to be So Cold

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Six – Never Meant to be So Cold**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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The detention room was pretty easy to find. Take my first left, go down three doors, take the next right, past the long hallway, find the short hallway, take two lefts, skip the next left, go two turns right, past the water fountain, cut through the corner of the gym, past the janitor's closet, go right and it's the fifth door on my left.

Even if I didn't have trouble with lefts and rights (I always have to check which thumb and forefinger make the L), it still would have been impossible to find, mostly because I made the mistake of continually asking heroes for directions, which they were all too happy to give me, and which were all too often complete lies because yeah, that's funny.

School let out at 3:45. The bus down to the rest of the world left at 4. I was supposed to be at work (Aunt Paige had found me a job with a couple of her friends) at 4:30, so there was no way I could miss the bus.

It was 3:49 by the time I ran into Tara, who showed me the room, all the while rolling her eyes. She left me there, muttering under her breath, something about me being a glutton for punishment.

I stood outside the detention room door, wasting another minute while I gathered my courage. It had already taken me three class periods just to get to the point where I knew that this was what I had to do. And now, going through the door…

Deep breath. In. Out. I could do this, I could do this, I could do this. Okay. Go me!

Once the door slid open, I rushed in, courage up, ready to apologize until I was blue in the face without actually giving him the real explanation.

The room was empty.

And the door slid shut behind me. The very pretty door. With no handles, buttons, or anything that said push-me-and-I'll-slide-the-door-open on this side of it.

Shitake mushrooms. What if Principal Powers had given him a fake detention? Just something she had to do in front of the cafeteria, but then she'd pulled him aside to tell him to forget it. What if it had been a real detention and Warren Peace was the type of student who said forget it? What if he had actually forgotten it? What if these doors didn't open and no one knew I was here and I got stuck here overnight in a room without a bathroom? What if the janitor found me here as a skeleton in three weeks?

And why did this room look like the afterlife? White walls, white floor, white furniture… It gave me the shivers and only served to increase my panic.

Which is why, thirty seconds later, the door slid open and Warren found me acting like a jumping-bean, hand-waving, hoarse-voice-hollering lunatic in front of the itty bitty window on the door.

Since my dignity and pride were pretty much ruined for life with no hope of redemption, I literally fell through the doorway, laying on the floor, half in the hallway and half in the detention room, breathing in freedom and the knowledge that I would not end up as a skeleton on the floor of the afterlife room. Warren stepped over me.

After turning to get another look at the weirdness that was me, Warren opened his mouth, shut it, opened it, and again stopped just short of actually saying anything. Since I had already landed him in detention and in the awkward position of being my savior from a fate worse than death—being stuck in the afterlife's waiting room—I decided I wouldn't make him ask the obvious. "I thought I was going to be stuck in here forever and then have to rescued by the janitor."

"The door opens at five o'clock."

Oh. Right. And even knowing that, when I sat up and started casually brushing myself off as though I hadn't just proven myself to be a complete nutjob, I kept my butt firmly planted in the doorway so I wouldn't get locked in again.

Warren sat at one of the creepy white desks and looked at me, not angry, not waiting for or wanting an explanation, just utterly bored. Alrighty, so ball's in my court, and I had—watch check—3 minutes left to explain before I needed to be hauling out of there.

Since this apology was going to be made with me half in the hallway, I checked first to make sure no one else was around. All clear. "I'm sorry you got detention."

"Just not sorry enough to explain why I have to serve a detention for something I didn't do, right?" He shook his head in disgust.

"No, I can't explain. At this point, I don't think I even have the power to be explaining anymore. I think it's gone beyond my control. And although I don't have a choice in the lie, I am sorry that you got stuck in the middle and that you're the one paying for it." For once, my brain-mouth connection was working in my favor, and I was able to say all the things I wanted to say.

"So you admit I'm not the one that threw you out the window."

I gave him a look. "Well, obviously it wasn't you. I mean, you might be all muscle under that nice looking leather jacket, but that wouldn't be enough to cause me to go flying across the room and through glass windows. No offense to you and your muscles, but you know what I mean. And unless your flames are coming out as jet propulsions, which I doubt since I saw them on the bus ride this morning, even your superpower couldn't have done that."

"Did you just call me weak and insult my power, all in the same breath?"

Giving him a wary look, I tried to decide if his more even expression meant that he was not so angry about the whole him-being-my-scapegoat idea, or if it just meant his revenge plottings were becoming clearer and more planned out. I kind of liked the idea of him not being mad. "No, I wasn't doing either of those things. I was actually kind of insulting the minds of the student body here at Sky High. Apparently not the brightest crayons in the box. Hello! Obviously it wasn't you who threw me out the window."

"So it was you?"

"No, it was the one-armed man—of course it was me. Duh." And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, as soon as I saw his slow smile of satisfaction, I knew I had just been outtalked and outmaneuvered into revealing things I had no business revealing. "Shitake mushrooms!"

I quickly stood up and moved out of the doorway. The last thing I saw before the door slid shut? Warren Peace's still smiling face for having outwitted me.

Which, as my watch chimed four o'clock, was quickly replaced in my mind with visions of me having to jump back down to earth because I'd missed the dang school bus.

I ran out the front door, pretty much jumped from the top landing all the way to the lawn, which I ran across, waving my arms like a lunatic (boy, did THAT feel familiar!), and throwing my arm through the bus door just as the driver was closing it.

I'm guessing the driver wanted to avoid the wrongful death lawsuits that he imagined would occur if he just took off with me stuck in the door and if I were to fall to my death. Thankfully, he opened the doors and allowed me on, with only minor glaring to accompany his kindness.

Sitting in the back seat, I spent the bus ride contemplating my most recent Warren-encounter. And trying to figure out just how much damage my big mouth had done. The good news was that he didn't know I was an empath. That was good—although likely to be short-lived in a school like Sky High. And even if he did find out I was an empath, it would take a lot of dot-connecting to figure out why I had gone flying out the window.

I really hoped he was bad at connect-the-dots.

Upon arrival at my new work place, I was told that since one of the busboys had called to say he wouldn't be coming in for the dinner shift, I would be bussing tables instead of doing the dishes, which is what I'd been hired for. Bussing the tables was the easy part – dirty dishes go in a tub, tub goes back to kitchen. It was the pouring-of-the-water part that I had trouble with. I even managed to spill a whole pitcher; and I suppose I should count myself lucky that I spilled it on myself rather than a customer, but somehow, I just didn't feel all that lucky.

All in all, by the time I finally got home, I was beyond ready for bed. Well, I guess in my case, it would be I was beyond ready for fold-out-couch. There was a note on the counter from Aunt Paige saying she'd been called in to work the late shift at the hospital.

My thoughts drifted to the end of my first day of high school, last year. The shift my life had taken between that day and my first day at Sky High was glaringly obvious. And yet, even looking around Aunt Paige's one bedroom apartment, even without anybody to talk to about my first day, even with all the mini-disasters that had made up this day, even though I was only able to go because of a scholarship, even though I had to have a job to help Aunt Paige with my expenses, and even though I'd had to start a whole new life, this day and this life were still better.

And tomorrow, I'd have my first power development class.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers Kara Adar, Readerfreak10, inTHEgrid is where i live, papersoul, Nival Vixen, and T. Reviews keep me writing even though it's 2:15 a.m. and my eyes are trying to seal themselves shut!


	7. Still Just a Rat in a Cage

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Seven – Still Just a Rat in a Cage**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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Miss Watson was turning out to be a pretty cool teacher, I realized during my second day at Sky High. The one thing that I really liked was that she didn't try to sugarcoat anything, and she didn't feel the need to be PC about the fact that we were Sidekicks. No, we weren't Hero Support, no, we weren't losers; we were Sidekicks.

And that was okay. Instead of focusing on not being Heroes, our classes focused on why Sidekicks were needed, necessary even. As it turned out, sidekick theory was actually a pretty cool class.

When we'd been asked to choose the best Hero the day before, most students said The Commander, or Superman, or Captain America.

"Alright, so these are our superhero greats. What's so great about them? Alan?"

Alan looked like he would rather drop dead than speak up right then, but he reluctantly (and quietly – I was sitting right next to him, avoiding sitting in the back with Jillian and Rick, and I could barely hear poor Alan) offered, "The Commander is almost invincible because of his super strength."

Miss Watson nodded. "Good. So The Commander is super strong and hard to hurt, maim, or kill. Does this make him the greatest superhero?" She looked around the room, waiting for someone to speak up. "Jillian?"

I think Jillian was still a little peeved that we hadn't written yesterday about Wonder Woman. She was kind of glaring at the list of names on the board when she said, "No. He needs his wife to cart his butt around in order to launch most of his attacks. Without her, he'd just be a really strong guy who might be able to stub a giant robot's toe."

Most of the class seemed to view her opinion as sacrilegious, and I think Rick's eyes were about to fall out of their sockets, he was looking at her in such shock and dismay. Yet, Miss Watson looked very, very pleased. "Exactly." Most heads in the room swiveled from staring at Jillian in the back of the room to staring at Miss Watson up front. "Where would The Commander be without Jetstream? He needs her in order to be great."

"Then what about Superman?" some kid (I think his name was Isaac) piped up. "He was super strong, nearly indestructible, _and_ he could fly."

"Good point, Jared," Miss Watson commended. Oops. Jared, Isaac, same thing right? I would learn all of their names eventually. Right? "Superman had all these great abilities. Did he need anyone else?"

Some students automatically shook their heads no. Yeah, loyal to the bone, those ones. The rest of us who kind of understood where Miss Watson was taking us actually thought the question through. Was there anything about Superman that made him need a partner like The Commander had?

I kind of slowly raised my hands, looking around the room to see if anyone else was going to speak up. Miss Watson nodded at me, "It's okay, Nevaeh, no need to raise your hand during a discussion, just speak up."

My voice came out kind of squeaky, but it worked. "He lost all those powers when he was around Kryptonite. If he had teamed up with someone who could have helped him with that, he would have been even greater."

"Right. He had this kryptonite weakness. But who could he have teamed up with that would have made him better?"

One of the guys in the front row leaned over to the kid next to him and whacked him on the back a couple of times. "He could have used a sidekick like Rex here to suck the radiation out of the kryptonite, which would have made it harmless to Superman. Then he really would have been untouchable."

"That's correct, Lenny, but in the future, refrain from trying to knock other students out of their desks when you're making your point. And we all know Captain America would have been lost without Bucky by his side and often doing the things Captain America couldn't or wouldn't. So do you all understand where I'm going with this discussion? What's the point? What do I want you all to realize?"

"That heroes are all that, but they're not 'and a bag of chips' without a sidekick." Lenny answered.

"But not just any sidekick," the girl in front of me piped up. "They need a sidekick who can balance or compliment their own powers, so that together, they're a more complete package."

Miss Watson leaned back against her desk. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first and most important lesson in sidekick theory."

We spent a few more minutes discussing important Hero-Sidekick teams in small groups before the lunch bell rang. I stopped in the bathroom on the way to the cafeteria, which made me late for lunch again, but put me in a better position to choose my table.

Though I had an excellent selection of empty tables to choose from, I sat at the same table as yesterday, and tried to tell myself that I wasn't hoping for Warren to be all territorial and sit there again. Nope, I really wasn't. And when I had been sitting across the bus aisle from Warren this morning, I had definitely not been hoping for a word, or at least a look. Neither of which I received, so it was a good thing I hadn't been hoping for them.

When a tray dropped onto the table next to me, I tried to quell the little zip of excitement that went through me, and tried to tell myself that I wasn't excited about Warren Peace sitting with me again.

And it was a good thing I wasn't excited that Warren was sitting with me, since I turned to say hi and realized that Imagination-Warren was really Tara. Whom I was glad to see. Not disappointed. Really.

A couple of Tara's friends from her Junior sidekick class joined us, and it turned out to be a pretty good meal. Tara's friends were a lot like her, kind of carefree, enjoying high school, and not caught up so much in the social divide that ran through Sky High like a flipping fault line.

When lunch ended, I rushed to the gym where the sophomore sidekicks were going to have their first power development class. After the bell rang, Miss Watson read off the groups that everyone was going to be working in. It seemed a lot of students had counter-balanced powers and could practice against each other as a means to work on control and develop the power. A couple of students were sent to practice by themselves, but not many.

Everyone immediately started working and powering up, exercising their control and limits against others in the group. I could tell that for the most part, they were just enjoying the chance to use their powers freely without worries and without condescension from Heroes.

Ruh-roh. Suddenly, power development was starting to look like more of a bad idea than something I should be anticipating with eagerness.

"Nevaeh, over here please." Miss Watson was waving me over to join her at the edge of the gym floor. I joined her very, very reluctantly and with a growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. "Before I can place you in a group, I need to see what you can do."

"Uh, well, about that," I stumbled my way through the start of my explanation, beginning to panic more and more the longer I tried to think of a way out of this without coming up with a single, working solution.

"This isn't power placement; I don't want you to feel any pressure. I just need to know so I can place you in the group that will work best for everyone."

"But, well, aren't there some kind of power training wheels I could use, or a harness or something to keep my power in check? Because, see, I'm really great with the control thing, in that I can turn my power off. I guess it's more like an off button that I have to hold down rather than a switch, but see, the thing is, if I lift my finger from the off button, then I have no control over the amount of power I use. And then things get really bad really fast, and I mean really bad in a get-kicked-out-of-school kind of way." Literally, I added silently to myself, remembering Warren and yesterday.

Of course, his being an elemental—with more intense, concentrated emotions by nature—hadn't helped anything either. Combine that with his volatile state, as a fire elemental and just as a personality flaw, and it was no wonder I had been thrown the length of a basketball court. Yet even knowing that those things had reacted badly with my power, I still wouldn't be lowering my controls without some kind of safety net.

"Nevaeh, breathe for a minute and calm down. First off, do you know what you're power is?"

What was I, an idiot? "I'm an empath."

Mentally I winced and looked around the room to make sure no one was listening, but that just made me more frustrated with myself. My paranoia was ridiculous. There were plenty of empaths in the world. I mean, even here, Jillian was a kind of empath, right?

"Alright, good. And is one of your parents an empath? Has someone worked with you on the dos and don'ts of being an empath?" Miss Watson looked relieved that I had calmed down somewhat and was able to discuss rather than babble.

Although her relief might be short-lived as her questions sent me back into panic, cover-up mode, which I tried to fight off. "Umm, I know some of the rules and general good ideas and bad ideas."

"What can you do so far? Can you pick up emotions from others?"

I nodded again. Yeah, that was the easy part.

"Well, just as a little exercise, try and figure out some of the emotions people are feeling in this room right now."

I sighed. "It's not that, Miss Watson. I mean, intake is easy. Reading and sorting others' emotions is cake. And I've had mental shields pretty much since I first got my power. My problem is in opening those shields. I have no control once they're lowered. Zero. I can't control who I read or whether I just read their emotions or steal them completely. This teeny exercise could end up with me sucking the lives out of all the little children in Salem. Well, Sky High, but you see my problem?"

"Why didn't you mention any of this earlier? Based on the way you reacted to the schedule, I thought you were excited about power development."

"I am. Well, I mean, I was. But that was when I thought it would be safe. Contained and guarded power development, not throw-us-to-the-sharks power development."

Miss Watson looked kind of at a loss. "Then I don't know what to tell you. I suppose you could just on the edge of the court, or in the bleachers until we're done here."

So I headed to the bleachers. And I admit, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. I had been looking so forward to power development, but hadn't had any clear expectations except that it would be a chance for me to develop my powers on a limited level. Like one day, I might actually be able to use them again. Now, that idea was kaput.

The rest of my day only went downhill from there. The icing on the cake came during current events.

I was back in my seat on the far side of our classroom. Since there were no bells except for lunch, the beginning, and the ending of school, each class went on their own schedule. We only had about twenty minutes left before the end of the day, so Miss Watson decided to fit in some of our current events material after math.

"Yesterday during current events, as a class, you decided what you wanted to focus on for the first month or two. So today, we're actually going to start examining the crimes of Dynamite and Heartthrob in detail. We'll also be following Dynamite's current, ongoing trial."

Please, just kill me now.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers BlackBirdDaeth, rootbeergirl119, Kara Adar, cheekybumbum, Readerfreak10, and 2oopm. Cue the happy dance, which looks remarkably like the Snoopy Dance :)


	8. Never One to Trust

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Eight – Never One to Trust**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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All right, I thought, as I watched the second hand going around on the clock. This was hell. As my classmates around me discussed the jury selection for my mother's trial, I was getting my own little personal preview of what hell was like.

When I left school today, I was going to join a nunnery to ensure that my after life would involve me passing through some pearly gates.

I was out of my seat and through the door before the bell finished ringing. All I wanted was to escape, to have four mind-numbing hours of washing dishes so I could forget that this day had ever happened. I wasn't even that excited to spend fifteen or more minutes (depending on the school's floating direction that day) sitting across the aisle from Warren Peace. Even though no words were exchanged (or even looks coming from his way), it was still a pretty good view, which helped distract me from the queasiness-inducing bus ride. That's all I was doing when I watched Warren out of the corner of my eye, of course. Distracting myself from the driver's horrible stops, starts, turns, and whirls.

But today, even the leather jacket and I-want-to-run-my-fingers-through-it hair weren't enough to distract me from the disaster this day had turned out to be.

I had been stupid to think that I would be able to work, exercise, and develop my powers like any other super kid. Even if they had had some sort of safety net system for power development, the first time I used my powers, someone would have figured out who I was. Which meant that I either had to practice on my own (and let me tell you, empathy without anyone else around? Pretty much an empty power), or… Well, I didn't really have an "or." Basically, I was screwed.

My parents were two of the most powerful villains in the super world. My power wasn't half bad, if I do say so myself. Yet, for all intents and purposes, I was powerless. In a super world where all that counted was power.

Needless to say, I was a little depressed and could only manage to dwell on the bad for the entire bus ride. I snuck just a few glances at Warren rather than the too-many-to-admit glances I had managed that morning.

First things first, I needed to stop dwelling on this, or I would spend four hours running these same thoughts over and over in my mind while washing dishes – not the best way to spend an evening. I needed calm, peace, and serenity so I could relax during my dishwashing. Time to think happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Raindrops on roses, etc, etc. My stomach flipped over. Time for this bus ride to be over, already.

So I'd thought my day couldn't get any worse? Nope, I was wrong. Yes, it is SO fun to be me.

I got off the bus at the same stop I had used yesterday. As did Warren Peace.

And he turned down the same street I needed to walk on. I was left with a dilemma – if I just walked along behind him, would I seem like a stalker, or if I tried to take another street, would I look like a loser who was totally lost (and might end up lost for real)? But walking with him in the same direction wasn't really an option. This was Warren Peace after all, which meant that a) he didn't exactly encourage small talk and friendly conversation with his broody nature, and b) I was still at a loss when it came to actually talking to him, since what I should be doing was avoiding him.

I spent most of the walk to work worrying about this dilemma, so much so that I almost missed Warren entering the Paper Lantern. I stopped in my tracks. Hoover Dam! What was he doing there?

A sick sense of premonition was starting to tickle the edge of my brain. I refused to acknowledge it, because what that little feeling was telling me was something too awkward and awful to believe. My brain was quickly playing its own game of connect the dots.

Please tell me he just loved Chinese food.

With a sense of bravado and zero sense of hope, I pushed open the door to the Paper Lantern. Warren wasn't in the dining section.

Shitake mushrooms. My stomach was filled with dread as I walked through the kitchen to the back area where the staff could put their personal belongings.

Warren was tying on a waist apron. His hair was already pulled back. When he looked up and saw me…well, the look of dawning horror on his face made the fact that we worked at the same place almost worth it. Almost.

"Nevaeh Tyler. No way." He was shaking his head. Wow, even Warren Peace knew who I was, which I found to be rather impressive considering the fact that no one talked to Warren. Ever.

"Do I _look_ any happier about this than you?" I asked, hanging my messenger bag on a hook and taking down my waterproof apron.

"I'm having one of those dream moments and when I wake up, you'll be gone."

"Aw, you dream about me? That's sweet, really. And kind of creepy." I tried to offer a peace-bearing smile. He tried to glare me into the ground. "Okay, look, I know I'm probably not on your Christmas list after yesterday, but I need this job. Probably as much as you do. So if we could just pretend that yesterday—"

"What do you mean, as much as I do?" The menacing tone he was using right then? Downright scary.

Open mouth, insert foot. It really ought to be my motto. "Well, I mean, most students at Sky High probably don't have after school jobs, and if you're willing to be a busboy—"

"How do you know I'm a busboy?"

"I had to sub in for you yesterday because you weren't here. Only I didn't know it was you. I just knew a busboy couldn't make it to work."

"Because of that detention YOU put me in."

I winced. "Yeah. Because of that. But see, if we just forget that ever happened, then maybe we could get through this whole working-together thing."

"Unless you throw yourself through the front door and blame me again for it."

"Which won't happen. I let my shields slip yesterday, just a bit, on purpose. I know better now. The feelings of a fire elemental are so off limits. It won't happen again." I held up three fingers and kind of wiggled them around since I didn't know the exact hand position for scout's honor. The gist was what counted, right?

"You're an empath."

Another wince and a minuscule head nod. Shitake mushrooms. I mean, I know my power won't stay a secret forever – it is Sky High after all and everyone seems to know everything about everyone. But that didn't mean I had to advertise it.

I must admit, I expected another barrage of anger, accusations, and glaring when I confessed that I had been reading Warren. Most people consider it a huge invasion of privacy. Which it is. Which is why, aside from the bad result, it had been a bad idea and it wouldn't be happening again.

Yet, as I waited with apprehension for Warren to lay into me for invading his emotions without his permission—which he had every right to do—he simply said, "Huh." There was a weird look on his face as he walked out into the dining area.

Suddenly, I was feeling rather wary. Warren had just walked away without saying a word about the fact that I read him, and without finishing our argument about us needing to work together. This was probably not good.

For the rest of the night, he would bring in a tub of trays and walk back out again without saying a word. I would take the tub without saying a word. All in all, it was the peaceful co-existence that I had asked for. So why, as I hung up my apron and grabbed my messenger bag, did it leave me with a bad feeling about the way things had gone tonight?

Walking back to Aunt Paige's apartment, I had a lot of time to mull over the ominous evening. I do believe I would rather have fought with Warren all night than just have him walk away with a "Huh."

When I got back to the apartment, Aunt Paige was there. I was relieved that I had no homework because the free time meant Aunt Paige and I were actually able to talk, even if exhaustion limited that visit to a few minutes.

"Do you like Sky High better or worse than PHS?" she asked once we were both sitting on my fold-out-bed.

"Sky High is growing on me." You know, except for the power development issue. Which would be a problem no matter where I was or who I was pretending to be. "When I first heard about the whole Hero-Sidekick thing, and then got a look at the ridiculous Sophomore Sidekick classes that are required, I thought I'd died and this was hell. But it turns out my teacher makes it not so bad. I'm actually enjoying classes like Sidekick Theory." I decided against mentioning my current events class and the disaster that it was quickly becoming. Aunt Paige and I never really discussed everything that had brought me to live with her, and we were certainly too tired to start now.

"Who's the teacher?"

"Miss Watson. She's really good. Her big thing seems to be getting us to look at things from different angles. Like, examining a problem from lots of different points of view in order to reach a solution. She asks lots of questions so that we start out looking at something from one side and by the time the discussion is over, we're looking at it from the opposite side, and it makes sense."

Aunt Paige nodded. "I've heard of her before."

I wrinkled my brow. "You've heard of a Sidekick teacher? How?"

"She's a fourth generation super."

My eyebrows tried to join my hairline. "Are you serious? Miss Watson? Then why is she a Sidekick?"

"Well, a fourth generation Sidekick, anyway. If the same power is still being passed down, I think she has the power of reasoning or logic or something like that. Her great-grandfather was a sidekick for some famous English detective."

"So even if she is fourth generation, she's still a Sidekick – I bet that is one difficult power to show or prove during Power Placement."

Aunt Paige smiled and ruffled my hair as she stood up, then leaned down to kiss the top of my head. "Just look at you, figuring things out in your mind. It appears that her teaching is already rubbing off."

Indeed. "Night, Aunt Paige."

"Good night, Nevaeh." She disappeared into her room and the door closed with a soft click.

Still thinking about Miss Watson, Sidekick class, and power development, I crawled under the covers. So I couldn't use my powers. That was a fact, and there wasn't much I could do about it. But sitting in the bleachers during power development wasn't the best idea ever – it called attention to me, and if people knew I had a scholarship, but thought I didn't have a power, they might start to wonder.

Okay, examine the problem; if I couldn't sit in the bleachers, the only other option was to be on the floor. But to do that, I had to exercise my powers, right?

Then again, empathy wasn't an active power. People didn't need to see it to know—or think—I was emotion-reading. There was no real way to prove I was using it, or not using it. Any mistakes I made while pretending to read people could be chalked up to only being a sophomore and having a power that was still developing.

For the first time since lunch, my smile was real.

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Thanks to reviewers Kara Adar, Godsgirl91, Nival Vixen, 2oopm, Readerfreak10, horsebookworm, CMHValex, xeasilyxamusedx, and Bellatrixcastle. It's good to hear what you're thinking when you finish a chapter and what you liked or what confused you. Definitely helps me :)


	9. To Make Up Your Own Ending

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Nine – To Make Up Your Own Ending**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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After those first two days, the next two weeks were a breeze. My life actually settled into a routine, hard as that was to believe. School, work, and any extra time I had was either spent on homework (which wasn't very often) or having a few hours to do something with Aunt Paige. So far, we'd gone to the zoo, rollerblading in the park, and had a fake cook-out on the apartment building's roof with one of those camping stoves. We didn't have many hours together as Aunt Paige worked long hours as a nurse and I had both school and a part time job, but I seriously loved the time we did get to have together. It was time to do normal things; there was no pressure to be a super kid or to work with my power because my Aunt Paige didn't have one, so nothing we did was super in the least. I loved it.

School went by okay – classes with the other sophomore sidekicks (I continued to avoid Jillian which helped with the smooth sailing bit), lunch with Tara and her friends, and then more classes. We'd only had P.E. four times so far and it appeared to be everything I had thought it was going to be and yet still managed to be worse. Not only was it a chance for the heroes to flaunt their superior powers, but they got to beat the crap out of others with lesser powers. It sucked like no other. I was just glad I hadn't ended up in the ring yet. I imagine it would be pretty hard to explain to my partner that I had no real power and was essentially useless and please, Mr. Hero Bully, beat the crap out of me.

And I continued to spend more time than was actually healthy watching Warren Peace. It was turning out to be a rather interesting hobby, if a slightly dangerous one when he caught me watching him. There seemed to be a circle around him, with a three foot radius, that no one, and I mean NO ONE, ever ever crossed. He really did sit alone at lunch every day. He sat alone during P.E. I imagined that in class, he sat in the corner and no one took the seat next to him, the seat in front of that seat, or the one in front of him.

One day, Tara and her friends (I had learned their names by this point, but they continued to be "Tara's friends" rather than mine) were talking about how a teacher had once assigned Warren a lab partner. He'd lit her on fire. Accidentally, of course. Uh huh, and the moon was made of purple cheese. I think I might have been the only one to ever get inside that three foot personal space bubble of his and escaped unscathed (minus being thrown out a window, but that was my own doing). The occasional proximity was unintentional (really, nodnodnod), but we worked together and I continued to sit in the bus seat across from him, so it was hard to avoid him and all possible contact. But we never spoke, unless we were at work and it was absolutely necessary (life and death, at least) and could be contained to as few words as possible.

My strategy for Power Development seemed to work. The next time we'd had the class, I had boldly wandered out onto the floor (though I was shaking inside) and asked Miss Watson to place me with a group so I could try and work on my control.

She seemed a little wary about my abrupt change of mind, but it wasn't like she could refuse to let me practice. So she put me in a group with Lenny and Rex. Turned out Lenny could grow rocks. Well, he was supposed to be able to grow rocks. So far, it seemed all he could really manage was a pile of pebbles. But he was able to infuse them somewhat with an itsy-bitsy dose of radiation, which Rex worked on removing. I think Miss Watson was hoping I'd be in a more stable environment, emotional-wise, by working with two earth elementals. Apparently she didn't understand elementals, because even earth elementals, as calm and steady as they tend to be, have concentrated, powerful emotions. So it was a good thing I was only pretending to read them. Really reading them might mean exploding the ground the school was sitting on. Which would be so not good.

The only class I actually hated was Current Events. Which was understandable.

School had been in session for just over two weeks. It was our third Friday in class when Dynamite's trial actually started. It felt funny to be referring to it as Dynamite's trial. But at the same time, it was a necessary measure, allowing me to look at my mother's trial from a distance. It kept me sane when we had to discuss it in class.

"The defense lawyer just finished her opening statement," Miss Watson announced. "Anyone care to guess what plea and reasoning the defense is going with?"

"Permanent insanity?" I muttered under my breath. But apparently not quietly enough. Heads turned in my direction, including Miss Watson's. Crap. Thus far, I had managed to stay out of these discussions and debates. It was just way too weird.

"Care to elaborate?" Miss Watson asked, rather dryly for a teacher.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Shitake mushrooms. "Well, it's not like it's a big secret that she was behind all the attacks. And she blew up the Murdock building on national news. Live on national news. The planning took months, and the actual attacks went on over a period of a few weeks. So it's hardly temporary. And if she thinks she can do all that and still be found not guilty, it's insane."

"That's an interesting analysis," Miss Watson said slowly. "Any other ideas as to the defense's arguments?"

I melted even lower into my chair. I had never wanted a day to end as much as I did this one. Except, you know, every other day we'd had Current Events.

One of the kids on the other side of the room, by the door, spoke up, "I heard the defense is saying that she was being manipulated by Heartthrob."

Miss Watson was nodding. "That's correct, Dave."

You have got to be kidding me! She was going to blame it all on my dad! They'd been villains for as long as I could remember. An empath's emotional manipulation could only last so long before they couldn't hold it any longer. Even Heartthrob, as powerful as he had been, had only been able to hold an empathy manipulation for a few days, a week at the most. Certainly not sixteen years.

But then, Dynamite was only on trial for the events that had happened during their three week reign of terror. Still, Heartthrob wouldn't have been able to hold a manipulation for that long.

And besides, he was too busy using his power to bring everyone to their knees. Well, at least those who got within a mile of him and my mom in the midst of their rampage. No jury was going to believe that he'd been able to keep any kind of manipulation on her through all that.

Apparently, no one else in the class knew much about an empath's abilities, or at least not one as strong as Heartthrob. No one brought these points up during the discussion that followed Dave's statement. And I wasn't about to bring it up. Maybe when hell froze over, but last I'd heard, it was burning as hot as ever.

The bell rang, and as usual on the days we ended with Current Events instead of P.E., I was the first one out the door, even though I was possibly the student sitting farthest from it.

I was so happy for the weekend—I was practically ready to jump from the school rather than having to wait for the bus on a Friday afternoon. It was my third weekend in town and though Aunt Paige had the late shift till two in the morning tonight, we had plans to go to the movies on Saturday afternoon. We were going to meet up with a friend of hers from the hospital, some doctor. Apparently, she was Aunt Paige's best friend and Aunt Paige figured it was time I started to meet people in her circle of friends. Make myself a more permanent fixture in Aunt Paige's life. I was down with that.

Because I'd done a double shift last Sunday to cover for someone else, they were taking my shift tonight, which left me with an apartment to myself, no homework, and time to relax. I had all these grand veg-out plans in my mind – paint my nails, watch the season premiere of Veronica Mars that Aunt Paige had taped on Tuesday while I'd been at work, watch the new Colin Farrell movie Aunt Paige had gotten from Netflix a week ago, finish the Tamora Pierce novel I had bought at the airport in California on my way out here, and take a bubble bath.

I painted my nails. I watched Veronica Mars. I started the Colin Farrell movie. I fell asleep by 7:30 p.m.

Aunt Paige and I were supposed to meet her friend at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon. We made it to the movie theater by 3:35. Oops.

We walked through the doors, entered the air conditioned lobby, and Aunt Paige waved to someone across the room. I tilted my head as I tried to see who she was waving at. And saw Warren Peace. At the movie theater.

Next to a woman who was waving. And looking at Aunt Paige. No. Way.

"There's Geneva," Aunt Paige informed me. Then, in the most innocent of voices EVER (she was making Snow White look like the wicked stepmother), she added, "And it looks like she brought her son Warren with her."

I stared at my aunt, incredulous, and trying to keep my jaw from hitting the ground. Was Aunt Paige playing matchmaker? This was un-freaking-believable. I went out of my way to avoid Warren Peace, which went against every instinct I had as a teenage girl with more than enough hormones, and now here I was, practically on a date with him!

"Aunt Paige! Don't you know who that is?" I whispered urgently as I tugged her off to the side of the movie theater lobby, near the ticket counter.

"Sure, sweetie. I told you we were meeting my friend Geneva and her son here, right?" Aunt Paige was just sunshine and innocence today. Funny.

"Then you KNOW that Geneva Peace is Barron Battle's ex-wife! And that makes Warren Peace Barron Battle's son!" I think I may have been hyperventilating. Or maybe it was the onset of a panic attack.

"Yes, Nevaeh," Aunt Paige assured me, and was I imaging it or did she really stress my new name? "But she's not Barron Battle, is she? Now, I want you to come meet her son."

When she tried to walk away, I yanked her back, none too gently. "I know who he is! And I work really hard to avoid him, at school and at work. After all that, you've brought me to the movies with him!"

"You avoid him?" Aunt Paige actually managed to look surprised by something today. "Whatever would you do that for?"

"Because! He's Barron Battle's son, and you know… Well, I mean, aren't you ever afraid people will look at you and his mom, being friends, and think, 'There goes the sister of a villain and the ex-wife of a villain. That can't be good, wonder what they're plotting?'" How could she not see this?

Aunt Paige shook her head. "Nobody knows who I am. Lisa always said she'd rather have no sister than a sister with no powers. And no one knows who you are, either."

"Principal Powers does. She didn't want to accept me into Sky High in the first place. And if I'm seen with Warren Peace, she might think we're plotting to take over the school, or drop it from the sky or something!" I was still verging on hysterics.

"Nevaeh, I want you to listen to me." Aunt Paige was actually cupping my face in her hands, like I was five-years-old and scared of my first day of kindergarten. "You are not a villain. You are not responsible for your parents' actions. You are not evil, and you never will be. Nothing that happened out in California was your fault. You came here to start over, to be somebody besides the daughter of Heartthrob and Dynamite. Do not let the person you used to be, or anybody who knows who you used to be, hold you back from being the person you are and want to be _now_."

I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't going to cry. I sniffled instead and tried to disguise it as just trying really hard to breathe in through my nose. I hadn't grown up around Aunt Paige, had never really even spent any time with her before I moved out here. And yet, she knew exactly what I was feeling deep, deep down, and exactly what I was afraid of. If the empathy power hadn't come from my dad's side, I would have wondered. I wanted to ask how she managed to know what she did about how I felt, but there was this annoying and painful lump in my throat, telling me that now was not the best time to be trying to talk.

Maybe she saw it in my eyes, or maybe she just sensed the question. Either way, she answered, "Remember, I'm the sister of a villain. You think I haven't asked these kind of questions or had the same thoughts and doubts about myself? You think Warren hasn't?"

I looked over at Warren. He and his mother were being really obvious about not looking at my aunt and me and our rather animated conversation. I thought about what Aunt Paige had said, and it made me wonder. Maybe Warren and I were more alike than I thought, but not in the ways that I'd dreaded and feared.

Aunt Paige smiled and patted the hand that still had a death grip on her arm. "If you're worried about the fact that your parents and his dad tried to arrange a marriage between the two of you, don't fret; nobody out here knows about that. Certainly not Geneva. And I don't think Warren knows either."

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Thanks to reviewers CMHValex, papersoul, Readerfreak10, Kara Adar, Aetherwyn, and Nival Vixen! Weeeeee! Your reviews encouraged me to write not one, but two chapters at once :) Which means that Chapter 10 is almost done and should be updated tonight, yay!


	10. Can't You See Through This Disguise

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Ten – Can't You See Through This Disguise**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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The movie ended. The credits rolled. And I had NO idea what we had just watched. Every single part of me was focused on the hot guy sitting next to me, the leather jacket that kept brushing my arm on the arm rest, and the faintest scent of the best smelling cologne I'd ever had the fortune to sit next to (or perhaps misfortune in this case as it was helping my sanity to fly out the window).

I'm not sure what had disturbed me more during the movie – Warren Peace sitting next to me (no, my aunt and his mother hadn't been obvious at _all_ when Geneva had gone into the row first, pulling Warren in behind her and Aunt Paige had pushed me into the row next) or the fact that Aunt Paige knew about the arranged marriage. The _attempted_ arranged marriage. I think the fact that all arranging parties were either deceased or in jail nullified the arrangement.

I wasn't so worried about whether or not Warren knew. He didn't know who I really was, so he couldn't connect me to an arranged marriage with the daughter of his father's friends. It was the fact that Aunt Paige knew. My face had flamed red when she'd revealed that little tidbit and it had stayed red until the movie theater went dark. I couldn't even talk to any of my three companions, I was so freaked out about Aunt Paige knowing that my parents and Barron Battle had tried to align the Battle-Peace line and the Conway-Nobel line through their kids.

Aunt Paige knew. It still blew my mind and it made me wonder just how publicized the arranged marriage had been. I mean, I'd always known. Barron and my parents had started talking about the possibility as soon as they realized my mother was pregnant with a girl! It was like one of those generally known things at my house – the sky is blue, dinner is at six (unless Mom and Dad are pulling a job, in which case it's at Ravioli-when-I-feel-like-it o'clock), no TV until homework is done, any hostages kept in the basement are not to be talked to, call if you're going to be late, don't use your powers against others in the family (law officers and heroes were the approved targets), and Jenny will one day marry Barron Battle's son. I never even knew Warren Peace's name!

It didn't really matter to me, it was just one more instance of my parents caring about themselves and their alliances rather than me and my life. The idea that their grandchildren could have firepower, empathy, or the ability to blow things up (or, and this was their ultimate hope, all of the above) was what they cared about.

I was probably a disappointment to them. No, not probably. I _was_ a disappointment. I mean, here are two of the greatest supervillains of our time, and they have a daughter who wants nothing to do with them or their lifestyle. A daughter that went out of her way to be nice to people and do good things and volunteered at the local homeless shelter? It shamed them, I think. When they introduced me to their friends (read that as new allies in whatever plot they were currently hatching), my parents would mention things like: got suspended from 6th grade for using her power against a kindergartner; was involved in a hostile takeover of the student body government and in her first year in high school too; has been using kittens as target practice. None of which were true, but they had to save face somehow.

Really, I tried not to let it bother me too much. I mean, they had been a disappointment to me, too. I wanted a mom who was on the PTA, not trying to blow it up. A dad who would come into my parent-teacher conferences without using an empath manipulation to convince the teacher to give me an A.

And someone was poking my shoulder. Insistently. Ouch. "Nevaeh?" Aunt Paige was gesturing for me to get up and follow Warren out to the aisle, where he had stopped and was waiting for us.

"Oh, right, sorry." I stood up and pretended I didn't notice the look that passed between my aunt and Geneva. Slightly gleeful and giddy. Greeeeeat. They probably thought I was so distracted because of Warren. Which, while not far off the mark, wasn't exactly the truth, either.

Aunt Paige and Geneva herded Warren and me out of the movie theater. Aunt Paige and I had taken the bus to the movies; I didn't know how Warren and his mom had gotten there.

"We're just going to walk Geneva and Warren to their car and then we'll go catch our bus, alright, sweetie?" Aunt Paige asked as we stepped out into the early evening sun.

I nodded and before my head had even stopped moving, Aunt Paige and Geneva were ahead of Warren and me by at least ten feet and walking towards the car.

Warren looked at me as we started to walk behind them, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, a wry look on his face. "Sooo, setup?"

I nodded. "Setup." And tried to contain my excitement at our first non-work, non-school related words since the incident in the cafeteria.

"I didn't realize you were Paige's niece."

"I didn't realize Aunt Paige's best friend was Geneva Peace."

"Your aunt tell you I was coming to the movies today?"

"Nope. She sounded so VERY surprised to see you. Complete innocence."

"Riiiight."

"Exactly. What'd your mom tell you?" I was rather excited that I had asked a question, which might encourage more than one sentence at a time from him.

"That Paige was bringing her niece to the movies with us. Apparently, _you're_ having trouble making friends at school and my mom wanted me to be…nice to you. Or something."

My jaw had dropped and I felt more than a little indignant. "I am NOT having trouble making friends. I have friends. Well, I have a friend. Besides that, your mom thought _you_ would go out of your way to be friendly? Does she know you?"

I could see his eyeteeth when he forced his mouth into a smile. "What are you talking about, my mom knows I'm Mr. Social."

One of my eyebrows quirked up, seemingly all on its own. Reflex when it hears a bald-faced lie. "Or something."

The corner of his mouth actually turned up a little. The very smallest, beginning of a real grin. "Don't tell her. She's still hoping I'll be voted Homecoming King."

It would have been impolite of me to snort with laughter, so I contained it. Barely.

There was silence as we continued walking. The cars were thinning out as we walked further away from the theater.

Warren must have caught me looking around. "I was wondering why my mom parked as far away from the entrance as possible."

"Tricky. And oh so subtle."

"Yup.

We were nearing the only car that this was far out, a silver Camry. "You work tomorrow?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I have Sunday and Monday off."

Reaching the car, Warren tried the passenger side door. It was locked. Aunt Paige and Geneva were working really hard to look like they were engrossed in conversation. However, they kept sabotaging their little act by darting rather conspicuous looks at Warren and me standing on the other side of the car.

Warren gave his mother a look. She sighed and beeped her keychain. The door unlocking was a rather loud sound in the growing-ever-more-awkward-by-the-second silence.

Climbing in, he said, "See you at school on Monday."

"See ya."

The door closed and my aunt and his mom shared an exasperated look before Geneva too got in the car.

I waved and started walking towards the bus stop. I heard Aunt Paige's hurried footsteps as she came alongside me. She opened her mouth. I interrupted whatever she had been about to say. "Uh-uh," I said, shaking my head.

"I was—"

"Nope."

Aunt Paige simply smiled. I rolled my eyes.

I spent the rest of the weekend thinking about everything Aunt Paige had said, about leaving the past where it belonged. As Pumbaa had said, you gotta put your behind in your past. Which made me think about Warren. And my own desire to continue the casualness between us.

I decided to eat lunch with Warren on Monday, and other people and their opinions be damned, but things didn't turn out quite that way. I was detained on my way to lunch. There was a guy standing in front of my locker when I went to put my morning books away (the materials I needed for each class had been growing as the year went on).

"Who are you?" he asked, rather bluntly. He was looking at me, as if he knew he should recognize me, and it was there at the edge of his memory, but he couldn't connect me with that memory.

Probably since he hadn't seen me in almost 9 years. I knew who he was right away; it's hard for me to forget the people involved in one of my kidnappings. Nightmares and the like had plagued me when I was little: floating faces, voices that came from nowhere, the steady sound of dripping water. The nightmares had gone away as I'd gotten older, gotten better at taking care of myself, and found scarier things in the universe than a couple of power-struggle kidnappings.

But I wasn't about to help him figure out who I was. That would be bad. His dad was Leech, a "reformed" sidekick to a super villain. Leech had kidnapped me on the orders of his villain, who was in a power-struggle for territory with my parents, and kept me in the basement of his house. My first kidnapping. When I'd waited for a rescue.

I remembered the little boy who'd come down the stairs one day. He was about my age. Apparently, his dad hadn't given him the don't-talk-to-hostages-in-the-basement speech that my dad had given me.

"Do you have a key?" One of my wrists was locked to a chain in the wall. I didn't think asking the little boy for a key was too awful of a request. After all, even though I was never allowed in the basement of our house, I always imagined that I would have helped one of my parents' hostages if I'd ever come across them, getting a drink of water in the kitchen or something.

I tugged against the chain a bit. My hopes rose when the little boy held up a key. And then it was like a needle popping a balloon. He placed the key on the steps next to him. "I can't."

"Why not? Just put the key back where you found it afterwards. No one will know it was you." This was what I had always imagined I would do if I had ever found the key to the basement, and a desperate hostage in need of a rescue. I suppose even when I was little I preferred playing the hero when it came to Heroes and Villains.

The little boy shook his head again. That was when I noticed his eyes. They didn't hold regret, or a desire to help, or a fear of being caught down here by his father. No, they simply held curiosity. A twisted kind of curiosity.

It was the curiosity that I recognized now. "I'm Nevaeh Tyler. And you're standing in front of my locker."

He leaned against it. And smiled. It was not a nice smile – it rather reminded me of a weasel. It also reminded me of how else I knew him; he was one of the bigger hero bullies in school. Though hero was a somewhat misleading label. "Now, I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

"Well, you don't. You mind must be playing tricks on you. I hear brains do that when they're bored from not being used often enough." I probably shouldn't have said that, but I wanted to get to lunch and see Warren and possibly talk to him and I didn't have time to be bothered by a bully who would be all too dangerous if he remembered who I really was.

His eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say."

From the corner of my vision I saw one of his hands coming up to touch my arm. I don't know why it creeped me out so much, but the movement just seemed to scream DANGER in big, red letters. The hair raised on my arm with goose bumps and I took a step back.

He stepped forward, away from my locker, his hand still reaching for my bare arm.

Suddenly, Tara was there between us, bounced in from seemingly nowhere, and accidentally bumped into the guy. He fell back against the lockers, his hand brushing against Tara's arm instead of my own. "Oh, sorry about that Josh. Sometimes my bounce just gets away from me." She steadied herself by putting her hand on his shoulder and took a deep breath.

The glare he gave us was malevolence at its best. "I'm sure," he said, his icy gaze fixed on Tara. Then he turned to look at me, although he kind of had to peer around Tara to do so. The effort he had to put into the move kind of took away from the full effect of his dangerous stare. "I'll be seeing you later."

I nodded, keeping Tara fully between us. He turned and started walking away, heading towards the cafeteria. I watched him go with relief; my eyebrow shot up when he started to take a step and ended up bouncing a few feet forward like a Gummy Bear. He steadied himself and continued to walk away, a little more carefully now.

Opening my locker, I listened as Tara explained, "That's Josh. Don't let him touch you. He can steal other's power. Although I thought he had learned by now not to steal if he didn't know the person's power."

I put my books in my locker. "Thanks. That could have ended very badly."

She nodded as we started walking towards the cafeteria. "I remember you said something once about not being able to control your empathy, which is why you didn't run around using it all the time. I figured if _you_ couldn't control it, the chances that Josh could? None to none."

I grinned. "Too true."

A crash loud enough to shake the school reverberated through the hallway, cutting off whatever Tara had been about to say. We looked at each other and started running in the direction of the sound. Rounding one corner, we almost ran over Mr. Boy, the freshmen sidekick teacher who was running in the other direction, but twisted and turned and narrowly avoided a collision

We kind of screeched to a stop once we reached the cafeteria. Just in time to see Warren go flying through a wall. My gaze reversed the path of trajectory and found Will Stronghold.

No. Way.

"Looks like someone got their powers," Tara remarked, smirking.

Had he ever. I watched the fight between Warren and Stronghold with a sick fascination. Warren kept coming back for more, refusing to just let it go. Even from across the cafeteria, I could feel his emotions trying to overcome the empathy shields I always had in place. They licked at the shields like flames promising innocence, trying to gain entrance.

I wanted to open my shields. The temptation to know what was driving his rage was incredible. Even through the shields I could feel something, the tiniest hints of the emotions that were pouring through him. Even with every mental block I had in place, protections I had developed over the last two years, shields my father had helped me establish, I could feel Warren's presence.

My knees buckled as the emotional level in the room continued to rise and force its way past my empathy defenses. It was like a dam just wanting to break free, to break in; hints of emotions were seeping through the shields – Warren's rage, other students' fear, horror, fascination, excitement. My eyes closed as I sank to the floor.

I felt Tara's hand on my shoulder, sensed her crouching down next to me, but blocked out what she was saying. Instead, I focused on my mental shields, reinforcing them, increasing their strength, refusing to give into the temptation to just let them go. It seemed so much easier to just let go, to just let everything in, to stop fighting; maintaining the shields under the emotional assault was exhausting, draining.

Then suddenly, it was like ice water was being thrown on the fire. The emotions that had been beating at the shields suddenly disappeared, withdrawing so quickly it felt like they were pulling my stomach up through my throat as they left. I fought the urge to hurl.

I could hear Tara again. And feel her trying to shake my arm out of its socket. I tried to tell her I was fine, but it sounded more like, "Urghghuh."

Trying to push myself to my feet, I felt people on either side, helping me up. I opened my eyes, my head down, staring at the floor. It looked like jello, waving back and forth – wait was just me and my currently wacked out vision. I saw a pair of shoes on either side of me. Tara and Miss Watson.

I tried again. "'M fine."

I figured it was Miss Watson rubbing circles on my back. Tara was more shake-your-arm-loose comfort than rub-your-back comfort.

Stumbling to a cafeteria table, I felt them on either side of me, hands braced in case I should start to fall. I sat and kept my head down. I guess Miss Watson knew what was going on – she pulled a couple of packages of crackers out of her purse and handed them to me. Who carried crackers in their purse?

"You're sure you're alright?" Miss Watson asked, kind of crouching on the floor so she could look at me.

I nodded, nibbling on a cracker. "I think these will help." I forced my head up, wanting to reinforce my I'm-fine idea. Everyone in the cafeteria was focused on watching Principal Powers escort Warren and Stronghold out of the cafeteria.

"Well, alright then." Miss Watson stood. Before she left, she advised, "Next time something big like this happens and emotions start to get out of control, clear out."

I nodded. "Most definitely."

The next few minutes were spent convincing Tara that I was fine. When I saw her friends approaching with their lunch trays, I asked her to drop it rather than continue this discussion and the reassurances in front of everyone, which she did, albeit reluctantly.

I didn't eat anything besides the crackers and by the time afternoon classes started, I was beginning to feel better. I took it easy for the rest of the day; Miss Watson didn't call on me during any discussions and I sat out during power development.

I was pretty much back to normal by the time Current Events rolled around; well, if it was even possible for me to be normal during that class.

As my classmates debated Heartthrob's empathy powers, I feared the nausea might come back. Hearing the other girls in my class volunteer stories they'd heard about how hot Heartthrob was, how he was able to convince women they were in love with him, and how he could pretty much get a woman to do anything he wanted—yeah, those crackers were about to make a second appearance. If there was one thing I never ever EVER needed to hear about, it was my dad's prowess and ability to bring a female to her knees using his looks and his empathy powers.

True though the stories might be, that's just gross. I don't want to know.

Class was almost over and we were all putting our books away when Miss Watson announced that she wanted us to start thinking about the topic for our next class. Everyone was to come prepared to participate in the discussion on Wednesday. "Next class, we're going to branch off a little bit. We've talked a lot about Dynamite and Heartthrob, and what they did. But what about the Conway Kid, and what she did? What's your take on that? Should she have been punished for the part she played in all of this?"

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers Kara Adar, xeasilyxamusedx, AnnaLesa, papersoul, cheekybumbum, Readerfreak10, Nival Vixen, and 2oopm. If this chapter seems longer, that's because it is (yay!), and THAT'S because everything that y'all said was running through my head as I was writing, and all those reviews helped get all my creativity and ideas flowing!


	11. Saw Your Face Before It Changed

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Eleven – Saw Your Face Before It Changed**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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The newspapers called me the Conway Kid. Which I suppose was better than some of the other super names they tried out first, like Angst Girl, and Dynathrob. Can we say, ewww? I _am_ glad those lame names didn't stick, but to be called the Conway Kid? Not so much on keeping my real identity a secret there.

I tried to shake these thoughts off as I left the building and walked outside. My next current events class wasn't until Wednesday – two whole days from now. And the topic for that class – well, I was going to put off thinking about it for as long as possible. Forever was my first choice.

And then I saw a rather welcome distraction. A familiar figure in a leather jacket, sitting off to the side of the steps where he always sat while waiting for the bus after school. I had always avoided him during pre- and post- bus times, but now…

Hey, we'd gone on a date. That gave me some approach-the-scary-loner-and-talk-to-him privileges. Right?

I hopped up onto the cement wall he was sitting on. Close to him, but not too close. I mean, I wasn't in his lap, or even close enough for my arm to brush his jacket (it was juuuuuuust out of reach—I'd have to have better aim next time I jumped my butt up onto a wall), so that wasn't too close. Dang it.

He never looked up from his book. But that wouldn't stop me from talking to him. Not after gathering my courage in order to actually approach him at school, and not after my idea to sit with him at lunch hadn't exactly worked out the way it was supposed to.

"Hey," I greeted. "So, I heard you got a half-day of ISS. You don't have an after-school detention?"

There was an awkward silence. He didn't answer. So, I answered my own question. "Obviously not."

More silence. I asked, "The after-death room still all scary and white?"

He still didn't say anything, so I offered my own thoughts on the subject. "I'm thinking it never changes."

Warren continued to read. Well, apparently his brain hadn't been scrambled too much by the fight, or by whatever else happened in the scary room. I kind of wanted to know how they'd both left the Detention Room unscathed. "So they just left you and Will in ISS together, all afternoon. And both of you escaped? Alive?"

Still no response from Warren. I swung my legs around a bit, kicking at the wall, looking across the grass at the students getting on the different busses. And figured out for myself that Will was alive and kicking. "I guess so, since Will's standing over there, waiting for the Westcott Oaks freshmen bus."

Silent Warren. It could be a new, FUN nickname! There were only three or four other kids waiting for our bus with us. "Do you think it's weird that there's only like, ten kids from the downtown area of Maxville?" I asked.

I was getting the hang of this whole, ask my questions, answer my own questions drill. "Suppose it's always been that way. Suburb heavy, city light."

But there were other transportation options, weren't there? "You ever think about getting one of those jet packs?"

Of course, Warren didn't answer me. But I figured I knew his answer. "Riiiiiiiight. They're really expensive."

Which left our favorite yellow mode of transportation. "But the bus isn't so bad, right?"

See, conversing with myself could be fun. Just keep talking as if someone else is answering, instead of it just being you, asking and answering. "I mean, if you don't mind starting off everyday off with a bout of motion sickness."

Personally, I hated motion sickness, but there weren't a whole lot of options for us scholarship folk, except the bus. Which meant we had to make the best of it. "You ever try Dramamine?"

By this point, I had almost forgotten Warren was there, I was so into my own conversation…yeah, right. As if I could forget the strong, silent lump sitting next to me. I wonder if he _had_ ever tried the motion-sickness medication. I had, but the results were far from stellar. "When I did, I kept falling asleep in my morning classes."

There were a lot of awkward pauses going on in this conversation. I sighed, slightly frustrated.

People were walking by. And giving me weird looks. I suppose I'd be giving weird looks too, if I came across a girl who was having a conversation with herself, asking questions _and_ answering, even though there was somebody sitting right next to her. A silent somebody.

I glared at Warren for making me look crazy. And for making me hold an entire conversation by myself. And for pretending I wasn't sitting next to him.

Well, at least our bus was here. Which meant a twenty minute ride of pretending we weren't sitting across the aisle from each other.

When the bus touched down on 4th Avenue, I felt like the little girl in The Pacifier who falls out of the minivan and hugs the ground, screaming "Land!" Me, I kissed awkwardness goodbye as I got off the bus. It felt like the bus ride had lasted twenty years, not twenty minutes. Part of it was the nausea-inducing hairpin turns. The other part of it was the awkward leftovers from the conversation I'd had to have with myself when Warren hadn't talked to me.

I heard someone step off the bus behind me. Hoover Dam!

"I thought you didn't work today?" I asked, turning to face Warren as the bus drove off like a bat out of Hell. Crazy driver.

He looked at me. Well, that was at least an acknowledgment that I was there. "You talk a lot."

I gaped at him. "Now you talk to me? NOW? Would it have KILLED you to talk to me while we were still _at_ school? In front of people? Rather than making me look like a lunatic, holding an entire conversation with myself."

His grin was real. "I found it amusing."

I wanted to kick him in the shin, but I resisted. See, I can be mature.

I stuck my tongue out at him instead. Forget mature.

Neither of us had to work that day. We kind of stood on the sidewalk for a bit, having gotten off at our regular Paper Lantern bus stop, which was also the stop closest to my aunt's apartment. Well, I guess it was my apartment now too. Closest to my apartment.

I started walking in the direction of my apartment, which was four blocks away. Four smelly blocks. That was the one thing about living in the city that I hadn't gotten used to: the smell of trash and fast-food that seemed to be forever clinging to the streets.

Warren fell into step beside me.

Cool. I kind of half-grinned, and tried to keep the school-girl giddy look out of it. "Alright, since we're away from the school and you've lowered yourself to actually talking to me…how did you and Will both get out of In School Suspension alive?"

"The room neutralizes all superpowers. Couldn't flame broil the little shrimp."

"Oh, so you like seafood?" I was gratified to see the corner of his mouth quirk up and the flames (that had started glowing on his hands at the mention of Will) almost died.

"Conked on the head, stuffed, and roasted alive. Yup," he said, nodding

I kept a careful eye on the hand flames – they had yet to die, but they weren't flaring up, either. Yeah, seafood as a metaphor while we really talked about Will. Hey, if it was working, and he was talking? I wasn't going to complain.

I wasn't going to do anything, talking-wise. Supposedly, the police use silence as a key interrogation tactic. It makes people uncomfortable and they feel the need to fill it.

Apparently, the police have the right idea. Who knew? Warren continued talking and I continued flame watching. "When I get home, my mom is going to kill me."

"That why you're walking towards my apartment rather than your place?" I asked. I didn't know where his train of thought was taking us, but hey, I'll go for a ride. My mind grinned an evil grin that I tried to keep off my face since I didn't want to have to explain it. I ordered my mind out of the gutter.

He shook his head. "Our apartment is in the building next to yours."

"Oh. I thought you might be trying to hide from the wrath of your mother. The peace loving good doctor. Yeah, she's a scary one, alright."

"I would if I could."

"Nice to see a six-foot-two, flame-throwing guy still scared of his mother."

"Hey, you want to be the one to tell her that I helped redecorate the cafeteria with scorch marks?"

"Don't forget the Warren-sized hole in the wall. Well, walls." He glared at me. "Right, not funny yet."

We were silent and walking (very slowly—Warren was practically walking backwards his steps were so slow and small) for a bit before he spoke up again. "I bet his dad is going to be _so_ proud."

I knew who we were talking about again. Without needing to refer to him as seafood. "For throwing you…for getting into a fight?"

He slanted me a look, like I was an idiot. Well, I didn't know what he was talking about—guys are weird! For all I know, maybe dads _do_ get proud over their son's fighting ability and the way they can deconstruct a cafeteria. My father would have.

"For having his power."

Oh. I thought about that for a second. Then thought about Warren. Ohhhhhh! "You have your dad's power?"

His hands flamed when I mentioned his father. Which was weird since the fire had been pretty much banked while we talked about Will. I was slightly afraid that I had crossed some invisible boundary and was venturing into taboo territory. But no, he actually answered me. Hands blazing. Sentences slow and memories strong. And bittersweet. "Yeah. We were playing baseball when it first showed up. I was seven. I destroyed the baseball glove he had just given me for my birthday. But he didn't care. Carried me around on his shoulders. Said mom had to bake another cake so we could celebrate again."

I stayed silent, my brain-mouth connection at a loss for words, which I suppose was just as well. I didn't want to say the wrong thing during a moment like this, which I have a tendency to do.

"Bet they're having a big ole father-son moment. Bear hugs, back clapping, and showing off," he muttered, shoving his hands in his jeans pocket and effectively dousing the flames on his hands that just seemed to refuse to die off. "Bet The Commander even bought him a pony or an X-box or something."

I looked at Warren like he was on crack. "Will helps destroy large sections of the Sky High cafeteria, and you think his dad's going to buy him an X-box? Who does that?"

"Alright," he said, turning his shoulders towards me a little, hand still in his pockets, as he asked, "So what'd your parents do for you when you got your powers?"

"Made me cry," I answered automatically. Aw, jeez, I hadn't thought about that in a long time.

"Cry?" Warren looked like he was trying to figure out if I was joking or not.

I smiled. "Empath, remember?"

A weird look came over Warren's face. One of his "huh" looks. All he said was, "Oh, right."

Tilting my head slightly, I tried to figure out what was going on in his mind. What did that look mean? It was the same look he had given me when he'd first learned I was an empath.

And I was about to learn what the "huh" look meant (and wish I hadn't) as he asked, "So, do you ever write to your mom? She's at Kryptonite Creek, right? Same superhero prison as my dad?"

I tripped over my own feet in shock and face-planted onto the sidewalk.

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Author's note: Thanks to Kara Adar, BlackBirdDaeth, papersoul, cheekybumbum, CMHValex, AnnaLesa, Nival Vixen, smokeydog, The M, your0favorite0nightmare, and Readerfreak10 for reviewing. I appreciate your feedback SO much!

This story is awesome to write. Warren and Nevaeh have a lot of these conversations in my head while I'm spacing out, which makes writing it all down later on so much easier. It's practically writing itself. Which is why I took longer than I thought I would to write this chapter – the characters kept jumping to later events in the story and I HAD to write down all these other scenes from the next couple of chapters. My "snippits" document, where I keep all these random conversations and events, has gotten all the way up to ten pages. Wootwoot!


	12. See the Devil on the Doorstep

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twelve – See the Devil on the Doorstep**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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I tried to hop back up with a Miss Congeniality calm, ease, and hair flip. I failed. Miserably. It was more of a stagger than a hop.

Warren had continued walking towards our apartment buildings and I ran to catch up to him, grabbing his arm and pretty much yanking him to a stop. And so sue me if I noticed how well muscled his upper arm was. Can you blame me for letting my fingers linger and slide a little too slowly off his bicep?

But, oh wait, right, there was a reason for stopping him. Dang him and his distracting ways! "How did you know!" It came out as a half-shout, half-gasp, half-shriek.

Warren shrugged and explained in a reasonable tone, "There's only one prison in the country with the ability to neutralize all superpowers. Stands to reason that's where she'd be."

Okay, was I allowed to smack him upside the head? I restrained my violent tendencies in the effort to get a straight answer and because I feared in my agitated state, I might accidentally knock his head off. "That's not what I meant and you know it! How did you know who I was?"

"Figured it out."

Okay, flame boy was risking having his head knocked off his shoulders. It was starting to seem like the more appealing option by the second. "How?" The question was asked through gritted teeth and I was amazed it was even understandable.

He finally seemed to take pity on me. "I always knew you weren't Nevaeh Tyler."

"From the beginning? But…but how? Did somebody tell you? Did Aunt Paige tell your mom and she told you?"

He shook his head. "No, my mom might know, but she never mentioned anything to me. But your name, Nevaeh? Sonny Sandoval was the first person to ever name his daughter Nevaeh."

I gave him a blank look. Why the history lesson?

Resuming walking, Warren elaborated, "He's the lead singer of P.O.D. His daughter is seven. So you might see a lot of six-year-olds with that name, but not a sixteen-year-old."

I groaned and smacked my forehead. Trust me to choose a newly invented name for my identity-in-hiding plan. "You read too much, you know that?" I told him, glaring. "Okay. So I'm using a fake name. Big deal."

"Your power has an explosive side which threw you out a window. AND you're an empath. Not that hard to put it together once I had all the pieces."

Shitake mushrooms. Okay…I was at a complete loss as to what to do. I had a few mental visions to work out some of the possibilities. I could jump on his back and pound on him till he agreed not to tell anyone. I could try and use my power to blow him to smithereens, but that had the possibility of backfiring and exploding me instead. Actually, a very likely scenario considering the last time I'd used my powers around him. I could fall on bended knee and beg, promise slavery, promise my first born, promise him Stronghold's head on a platter (elder, junior, or both, whatever he preferred). I could promise to be his sidekick, in whatever ventures he undertook in the future, be they heroic or villainous (although the sidekick promise and the slavery promise seemed repetitive).

What if none of these worked? My next mental montage took me through those possibilities. Me being jumped by half the kids at Sky High. Me being tarred and feathered in the gym. Me being thrown off the school.

"What are you doing?" Warren called loudly from far ahead of me. He had stopped and turned to find me still glued to the same spot with the same horrified look on my face. "Tyler! Let's go!"

"Go?" I squeaked. He was far enough ahead of me that I doubt he even heard me. What if he was even now leading me to my ultimate doom? What if there was a posse outside my apartment building even now, waiting for Warren to escort me straight to them?

Could I take Warren? He was walking back towards me, an exasperated look on his face. My head tilted as I watched him and pondered the question. He was 6'2" and I was only 5'5". He had a slight height advantage, so what? Guesstimating weight was not my strong suit, but I'd guess he outweighed me by at least 40 pounds of muscle. My size 9 butt was not in the best shape of its life (hey—my P.E. class consisted of everyone sitting on the bleachers, which wasn't the ideal fitness plan). Right, he could outmuscle me, big deal. My active power wasn't currently in working condition, and he could fry me alive. So power-wise, he had a bit of an advantage. I had little doubt as to my own ability to take a hit (which was zero ability), and I knew Warren could take one hell of a hit. So outlasting him wasn't an option. Could I outwit him? I thought about hero class training versus sidekick training. I thought about having seen him reading The Count of Monte Cristo and the latest biography on Alexander the Great. And that was just this week. What had I done? Read Teen People and Entertainment Weekly and watched Veronica Mars—well, that might be to my benefit here. But all in all? Chances of outwitting Warren Peace? Slim to none. Heavy on the none.

He had finally reached me (he must have been really far ahead of me by the time he'd stopped walking!), and I quickly scanned my possibilities. Right, there was nothing else. I opened my mouth to offer my first-born.

"Tyler, you're an idiot." I shut my mouth, and he continued, "You can't think I'd actually tell anyone."

It seemed he had amazing powers of insight. Ruh-roh. Was there a little bit of hurt mixed in with that disgusted look on his face?

"I've known for almost three weeks now," he declared, turning and walking back towards our apartments. "If I was going to tell someone, I would have already."

I cringed and hurried to catch up to him. "I'm sorry." There was no response from him, no change in expression, which looked like it could have been carved in stone, by the way. "Warren!"

He continued walking and exasperated, I grabbed his forearm and this time, didn't let go (and pushed my girly giddy reaction back where it had come from so it didn't interfere with this suddenly very important apology).

"I'm really, really sorry. You have no idea. But this, having someone figure it out, has been my biggest nightmare over the last three weeks. If any of the other students find out that my parents are Dynamite and Heartthrob, I may as well just post a billboard and invite people to jump me and beat the shitake mushrooms out of me."

"You think I don't understand that?" He looked like he might be relenting a little and his arm was no longer as tense under my fingers. He'd also stopped trying to pull away from me to continue walking.

"I know you know how it feels. But you also have a mom that's world famous for her medical work and beloved for her hero work. I have two parents with no redemptive qualities. Who killed a dozen people. And I helped them."

He was about to interrupt me, I could tell, but I continued over any protests he might have made. "No, don't say anything. I know my role in all of this. Whether intentional or not, I helped my mom. And if this is how I see it, straight forward like, imagine how everyone else at Sky High sees the Conway Kid. People like Jillian Lockwood. There's no going back for me. I can't change what I did. But I have been able to start over. And I like it. I like Sky High, if you can believe that. I like Miss Watson and her classes and the way they make me think. I like the other kids in my class like Lenny and Rex, who go out of their way to crack me up during power development. I like working at the Paper Lantern. And being set up on horribly awkward dates with you. And then there's Aunt Paige. It's like I just discovered her, and I'm already really attached. When I think about losing all of this. Having to start all over again? I freak out. I'm irrational and panicky. And yes, I assumed the worst when you told me you knew who I was. I always assume the worst. But then there are times, like now, when people surprise me. In a good way."

When I took a breath, everything I had just said caught up to me. Oh God. I had just spilled _everything_ to Warren Peace. And the panic I now felt didn't stem from a fear that he'd make it all public. No, right now, I was just concerned with everything private, which used to be private only to me, but was now private between Warren and me. Oh, hey, look, there's a heart on my sleeve. The size of California.

I needed a power change. I needed the ability to phase through things so that right now, I could just sink through the ground. Hey, Medulla…

Hoover Dam! I had even confessed to liking Sky High!

"You didn't help you mom kill anyone," Warren said as he started walking, my fingers sliding off the leather of his jacket.

All thoughts and feelings of panic over everything I had revealed (all those emotions I'd laid bare!) disappeared, replaced by irritation. "Were you even listening! Because I clearly remember saying something about how you were NOT to be denying my role in all of this!" I walked next to him, arguing my point.

Warren rolled his eyes. "What's weirder here? You thinking I'd actually follow that asinine directive, or you arguing with me over your supposed role as a mass murderer."

Okay, yes, when he put it like that, it did sound stupid. And left me with not a whole lot to say, except, "Accomplice."

"What?"

"Accomplice. Supposed role as an accomplice to mass murder. At least get that part right."

"My apologies."

"Accepted."

And then it was back to casual banter. As if I hadn't just poured out all my fears to Warren and he hadn't just tried to relieve my guilt.

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Tuesday morning at the bus stop, Warren and I actually talked while we waited. A little bit of seeing how the other's family was, a little recap of activities last night. It was good.

We both know, however, that all conversation stops when we get on that bus. It takes all of our concentration to survive the ride without throwing up whatever breakfast we'd scarfed down (although I had taken to skipping breakfast and just bringing an apple or a Pop-tart to eat AFTER the bus ride).

And when we exited the bus at Sky High? I got off first and started walking slowly towards the school. After my one-sided conversation here yesterday, I was taking my cue from him.

He walked right past me. I'd told myself that I wouldn't let my jaw drop or chase after him if this was how school was going to be. And I restrained myself, barely (hey, as long as no one else realized why I was suddenly posed with my hand under my chin). But I just couldn't resist muttering, rather loudly, "Image conscious freak."

Half-turning so he could roll his eyes at me was all the response I got. I made "scurry along" motions in return.

Walking towards my locker, I nodded to the people I knew. Thankfully, the list was growing. The halls today were positively buzzing with supposition of Will Stronghold's change to hero classes.

I'd gotten my books and was almost to my classroom when someone started walking next to me, on my left. I turned, expecting to see Tara. And found Josh. Shitake mushrooms! The halls were crowded, which kept me from being able to walk with at least five feet separating Josh and me (I would have preferred a football field), so had to make do with 18 inches and keeping a careful eye on his right hand, which looked so innocent, holding his books.

"That hand gets anywhere near me and you lose it forever, got that?"

Josh was the picture of innocence as he nodded. He held up his other hand and waved at me. "So _this_ hand…"

"Will share a similar fate."

"Right. Gone forever. Got it." His grin was rather cheeky for a soulless git who I knew wouldn't share Warren's penchant for silence if he discovered who I was. "So will you go to Homecoming with me?"

I flipped him off.

"Was that a yes and a go ahead on getting the hotel room?"

Escaping into my classroom, I closed the door without looking back. I had never been so happy to see my sophomore sidekick classroom. Josh gave me the heebie jeebies. I couldn't tell if it was his change in tactics or the emptiness behind his eyes. Ugh. Heebie jeebies.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers Cheekybumbum, Readerfreak10, PadFootCC, brokenwriter, inTHEgrid is where i live, 2oopm, and Kara Adar. No matter how crazy busy I get, it's reviews that make me take the time (even if I don't have it to take) to write the next chapter.

I've watched Sky High too many times to count, and have kind of figured out the timeline for post-Will's powers, which is about a week, based on what they say and the events that take place. Here's one question that helped inspire this story: How did Warren go from trying to fry Will at lunch on Monday to sitting down and having that conversation with Layla on Wednesday? There's definitely only a two day time span there. So, I got to thinking about it, and everything I came up with helped create the character of Nevaeh.

On a sadder note, I'm going out of town, so there won't be any updates until Tuesday late late night at the earliest.


	13. The Price You Pay to Play the Game

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Thirteen – The Price You Pay to Play the Game**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

Author's note: Sorry for the delayed update. But this chapter got ridiculously long (part of the reason for the delay…), and I ended up splitting it into three separate chapters. The next two will be up pretty quick.

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It took me most of the day to shake off the creeps that Josh had given me that morning. You know that feeling you get, like a ghost just ran its bony finger down your back and you get the shivers? That was happening to me all morning, remembering Josh's casual emptiness, and just when I thought I'd felt the last one, right before lunch, they started up again.

Josh waved at me from across the cafeteria. He was sitting with a bunch of the other senior heroes, and he was waving at me! Unbelievable. The bony, ghostly finger ran its hand down my spine and I shivered. Josh smiled when he saw the telltale sign of my disturbance.

I stiffened my resolve not to let him get to me. By allowing him to have that power over me, the ability to break my concentration, the ability to affect me with the heebie jeebies, I was feeding his love for the torment. When he looked at me and I could see his eyes…their emptiness was what scared me. The same look he would have if he were to step over someone he'd just killed and ask if there was milk in the fridge.

And dwelling on his extreme creep-out-factor level was not helping me move past this, not at all. Right now, he couldn't hurt me. That was good. There were enough of us at Tara's sidekick table that I didn't have to worry about him weaseling closer.

Then again, we HAD been walking next to each other down the hallway, and he hadn't even made an attempt to touch my skin. Perhaps he really didn't mean any harm, and perhaps he really was just naturally curious about how he knew me, and perhaps he really did just want to take me to homecoming.

Yup, and right after that, we were going to have a snowball fight in hell.

But I wasn't going to dwell, right? No dwelling. I repeated that to myself the entire walk back to my Sidekick class, where the room was buzzing with the latest gossip – Will Stronghold had challenged Lash and Speed to Save the Citizen on behalf of all Sidekicks.

Miss Watson tried to get the class' attention for the rest of the afternoon. She really did, but there was no hope. Whatever she had to offer the class didn't stand a chance against the news that two of the more enthusiastic Hero bullies were about to get their butts kicked in P.E.

So Will Stronghold was going to swoop in and save oppressed Sidekicks everywhere…riiiiiight. Everyone seemed to be ignoring the fact that he was a freshman who had gotten his powers only yesterday. I think I was going to hold off on planning the congratulations party until after the match.

When it was finally time for P.E., I'm not sure who was more excited to leave the classroom – us or Miss Watson. Either way, there was a mad dash through the door and some of the students might have even broken my end-of-current-events-class record. Quite impressive.

Everyone's required to dress down for P.E. It's fairly pointless considering that most of the students don't do anything except sit in the bleachers. Supposedly, there was even a senior sidekick boy who had never once played Save the Citizen. Great system.

I climbed up the bleachers to sit next to Tara in our usual corner. Sometimes Save the Citizen was interesting. There were times where it was worth sitting on the rock hard bleachers for 45 minutes just to see how incredible and awesome one of our school mate's power was, or to see somebody completely get their butt kicked. Most of the time, it wasn't that interesting.

"You ready to follow Will Stronghold to the Promised Land?" I asked. I could almost feel the anticipation in the room. This was one of the times when everyone around me was in such an agitated emotional state that I could identify emotions even through my shields.

"I hear it's flowing with milk and honey!" Jake, a junior who could turn lights on and off by blinking at them, rubbed his hands in faux excitement.

"Sounds sticky," Tara said.

We were just getting comfortable, ready to watch the event that could possibly end a great deal of the bullying at Sky High, when I heard Coach Boomer calling my name. And pronouncing it correctly.

Ohhhhh, shitake mushrooms.

I didn't even hear who else he called. All I knew was that he had just called on me for the first match of the day.

My original look of horror was still on my face as I turned to Tara, hoping against hope that I had just imagined Boomer calling me down to the floor for a bout of Save the Citizen. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed when I saw Tara's face – it matched mine.

Jake was patting my back, I think meaning to be comforting. Of course, that was ruined when he asked, "Should we throw yellow, pink, red, or white roses on your coffin?"

I tried to smile and struggled for a casual not-about-to-go-to-my-death attitude. "Apparently Boomer's still a little sore about my choosing my own track during Power Placement. Note to self, don't piss off the people who can throw you into a ring with Lash and Speed and watch them legally beat you into the ground."

Tara nodded, her eyes still a little wide. "Good note."

I took a step down the bleachers before I turned back towards them for a second. "And Jake, you damn well better get ALL those colors. I want to see a rainbow of roses when I look down at my funeral."

"Or look up at your funeral," Tara said, giving me a mischievous grin and ducking the hand I swatted at her.

And then it was time to face my doom. I half expected Tara and the others to start whistling that song that always plays on movies when it's time to face the music and go to your death or the principal or whatever. Beethoven's 5th. I wouldn't have even minded the song – it was rather fitting.

How the hell was I supposed to save the citizen, when I couldn't even save myself? I was gonna get my butt kicked down here in the pit. Sorry, ring. Calling it a pit might imply dark, dangerous, and somewhat illegal. Which, obviously, was so not true.

Boomer really knew how to hold a grudge, I mused as I put on my pads and other protective gear that would do nothing whatsoever to help me not get beaten to a bruised and bloody pulp. I was going to have to go up against Speed and Lash. I'd been watching Save the Citizen for two or three weeks now. I knew they were undefeated and they were jerks. And this was going to hurt. A lot. Probably the only reason Boomer hadn't called me in yet was the nurse warned him that my back wasn't healed.

It was now, however, and just in time for it to go back to being shredded when I got defeated by two stupid villains like Speed and Lash. Argh!

I walked into the ring and looked over at my partner. I recognized him—Connor something or other. He was a Hero in Tara's junior class, and also her secret longtime crush. Great. Tara was going to be pissed that I was going to be useless in assisting her lover boy, which would probably mean we'd both get beat down. Oh boy, bring it on!

Yes, I thought sarcastically, this is my happy face.

Connor walked over to me. "You're that new sophomore, right?"

I nodded. "Nevaeh Tyler. And you're Connor, but I'm not sure what your power is."

He looked kind of grim, as if he was a psychic and he knew exactly how this match was going to turn out. "I can create and manipulate ice. What do you do?"

I tried not to look at the ground, since it really wasn't my fault I couldn't use my powers or that Boomer had partnered me with him (well, that one might have been my fault), when I confessed, "I'm an empath, but I can't really do anything."

If possible, Connor's expression grew more somber. "What do you mean?"

Before I could answer, Boomer was yelling "BATTLE!" in that special way of his, the clock was counting down, and I was flying through the air after being hit by the freaking speeding bullet. I hit the Plexiglas wall and slid down it. Kind of like mashed potatoes being thrown against the wall. I suddenly knew how the mashed potatoes felt.

I shook my head and was standing up when I saw Connor working on Speed. The demon bullet was slowed down to a normal watch-your-step walk on the ice that Connor was spreading around the pit.

I contemplated my move. Speed and Connor were occupied for the moment and I had two options: a) I could attempt to save the citizen, or b) I could attempt to take down Lash. Now, Option A was pretty much the goal of the game, at least for Connor and I. Even if I tried to take down Lash, I'd still have to go after the citizen before too long. If I went after the citizen first, a confrontation/smackdown with Lash was pretty much a given. So I could try to win the game, and Option B would likely find me all on its own.

Before I could even take two steps towards the citizen, Lash was slinkying his way over to me in two giant flips and steps.

"Hello, new little sidekick," he greeted me, before he used his stretchy arm to push me the entire length of the ring until I smashed into the opposite wall.

Freaking loser. Before he could retract his arm, I had a lock on his wrist and was bending his hand back.

My parents had enrolled me in karate after the first kidnapping. By the time I was ten, I could take down a full grown man. By the time I was twelve, I had a black belt and my fear of kidnapping had been pretty much erased after two failed attempts by kidnappers to contain me after they'd underestimated me.

So though I couldn't use my power in Save the Citizen, I _could_ use my karate training, and possibly take Lash down, dislocate something, or break something.

I still had a lock on his wrist when he retracted his arm, pulling me along, back towards Lash. It was as I was bending the wrist backwards with as much strength on the correct pressure points that I realized the flaw in my karate theory. It's hard to dislocate something or break the bones of a human rubber band.

When I was about halfway to Lash, he took advantage of the fact that my hands were still locked onto his wrist. Using his arm like a whip, he flung me against another Plexiglas wall. I hung onto his wrist, bending it back and forth, ready to just yank it off, when he whipped his arm again, smacking me into the opposite side of the ring.

Okay, this was clearly not working. I let go of his wrist and tried to make a mad dash for the citizen. Lash grabbed the back of my shirt and lifted me fifteen feet into the air. I got a glimpse of Connor and Speed—Speed's feet were stuck in a block of ice, which Connor was doing his best to keep solid, but Speed's feet were able to move maybe a centimeter back and forth, but it was enough for him to go fast enough and cause enough friction to melt the ice.

Yeah, Connor had his hands full. Which is why I tried not to distract him as Lash released me fifteen feet in the air. I fell on top of a wooden park bench. Stupid props in the ring, anyway, trying to make it realistic. C'mon, how realistic was it to have the citizen hanging over a mulch machine?

The rest of the match pretty much went the same way as the first two seconds. It was like when I was a kid and my friends and I would go swimming and make a whirlpool; even if I picked up my feet, I just kept going around and around with the current. That's how I felt during the match – I had zero control of direction or outcome. I couldn't get away from Lash long enough to save the citizen, and Lash kept throwing me around like Raggedy Ann.

Connor was still trying to contain Speed long enough to make a grab for the citizen. Things were not going well for him. Yet, he did take the time to glance at my situation and yell at me, which I very much appreciated, of course.

"Tyler! What are you doing!"

Hmm. I thought that was rather obvious, as I flew past his head and smashed into a fake lamppost before Lash grabbed my ankle and flung me into the air again. "Sailing."

"Use your power!" Connor shouted as Speed broke free of yet another ice block. He instantly iced the area around Speed, which sent him skidding and slipping at super speed right into me, smashing me (yet again) into the Plexiglas wall. I seriously hated these damn walls.

Oooh, if I used my powers, just a little bit… The angry thought had barely made it into my head when I felt my shields start to give in anticipation of some payback.

Flashbacks from California quickly had me strengthening my shields again. I tried to take a deep breath and calm down as Speed spun in super-fast circles, holding onto my arm and my leg, and then released and sent me crashing into Connor.

We skidded about 15 feet before Connor created a mini ice ramp that sent us up into a small curve, slowed our momentum, and we slid back down to the ground. Well, at least we hadn't hit the wall again. Or, I hadn't. I don't think Connor had been abused by Speed enough to have hit the wall once yet. Flipping hero.

We'd now had two and a half minutes of this crap, and I didn't know about Connor, but I was ready to cut the dang citizen's cord myself and just plunge him to his death, ending this stupid game.

"Dammit, Tyler, use your power!" he growled as we jumped to our feet to see Speed and Lash about to launch a team attack.

"I can't!" I yelled back as Speed dashed around us. Fan-freaking-tastic!

And crap! I shouldn't have yelled that as loud as I had. Now everyone at Sky High knew I couldn't use my powers. Yeah, as if _that_ wouldn't make bullies come after me. I wouldn't be surprised to find a revised schedule on my desk tomorrow morning with a new class: Hero target practice, with me being the target.

I realized that Connor and I should probably split up and go back to trying, individually, to get past the villain to the citizen at about the same time that Speed ran into the two of us and sent us flying backwards.

Yeah, splitting up would have been a good idea. Thankfully, Speed had accomplished that for us, and I had hit Plexiglas on one side of the arena, Connor sliding into ice on the other.

I could hear the gym starting to count down from 10 as Lash grabbed a wrist and flung me at Connor. Iceberg-boy put up an ice wall to protect himself, which didn't work when I smashed through it and STILL bowled him over. Great, even my own teammate was giving me bruises now.

"Five!"

Five more seconds and it would be over. Oh pretty please, make these the shortest seconds of my life. I really didn't care about the citizen anymore. For all I knew, this citizen that we were working so hard to save might be a bank robber or a hit man in his other, non-hostage life. In fact, that was probably how he got mixed up with the villains in the first place.

I told myself it was all just a trap, the stupid citizen was a villain, and there hadn't been any real need. I convinced myself of this as Speed hit Connor and I and sent us flying into a metal dumpster that crumpled like a pop can when we hit it, throwing us to the floor.

The students yelled, "One!" The clock buzzed, loud and obnoxious. And let me tell you, I was working hard to contain my smile as I saw that damn citizen get mulched. Served the stupid hostage right—if he'd been worth saving, he would have saved himself. That was what my dad had always said because he'd been forced to rescue me from Josh's dad's basement, and that was the reason I had started taking karate and was so determined to prove myself to my dad after that first disaster of a kidnapping. The next two had been a breeze – I looked like a harmless little girl, all innocent and in pigtails. Neither the second or third group of villains had bothered to contain me in any way other than locking the door to the room I was in.

Hmmm. Maybe I lacked the sympathy required for this hero business. Then again, maybe when I was once again able to use and control my empathy power and if there was ever a real citizen, with real feelings, I would be more motivated to help. For now, I had just wanted to make it through the game alive. And it was a success!

I think.

I scraped my face off the floor and cracked my jaw back into place. Ohhhhh, somebody was SO going to die for this! My arms felt like jelly and gave out as I attempted to push myself to my feet. It felt like my entire body was a bruise, I think there were splinters in my leg from that damned bench that I had been thrown into, a gash on my arm dripped blood, and to top it all off, my hair had fallen out of my messy bun and was now kind of hanging all straggly like around my face. No doubt I looked like Cousin It's scarier relative, Cousin That.

Yeah, someone was gonna die for this Save the Citizen disaster – and I think that person was me.

Staggering to my feet, I pulled my hair back into the two-second style of the messy bun and attempted to steer myself in the direction of the locker rooms, wanting only a quiet place to die alone.

As I left, I heard Speed and Lash choose two new victims – Stronghold and Peace. Oh boy, this one I had to see! Deciding to put off my death moment until after this next match, I made my way back towards the stands and sat at the bottom, away from most of the students.

I watched the match, trying to keep from wincing in sympathy for every frustration or hit that Warren took. Warren and Will actually worked fairly well together, each taking a villain to work on. Not that I would ever tell Warren that, of course. I liked being alive and having normal, non-charbroiled skin.

When Will threw Warren across the ring in order to save the citizen, I cringed. Ouch. Hey, look, there goes Warren's pride flying right out the window as he went flying across the gym. I didn't even need my empathy power to sense that resentment building.

I watched Warren brush past Will once the timer buzzed, broodingly quiet, before I ran to catch up to him…well, I suppose hobbled to catch up to him would be the correct phrase. Because, ouch, I was hurting in places I didn't even know I could hurt.

"So, you don't have much regard for the citizen being saved either. I must admit, I was hoping mine would get mulched. It was annoying, always calling for me to save him." I caught up and limped along beside Warren.

"What are you talking about now?" Warren asked as he continued walking. He didn't appear hurt at all. Right then, I almost hated him as my arm creaked back and forth, my shoulder so bruised I couldn't raise my hand. Yup, tiny bit of hate for anyone who could walk away from that damn game without even a scratch.

"The citizen and your oh-so-caring rescue. Really. That was a gentle little shove you gave her when you were getting up. I think she only went ten feet before she hit the ground again."

I saw Warren try to control the little quirk of his mouth, trying to keep a straight face. "As you pointed out, she was an annoying citizen to save."

We reached the boys' locker room. Warren went in and then turned before the door shut behind him. "See you on the bus."

"See ya." I made sure the boys' door was shut before I let myself add a little skip to my step. I mentally high-fived myself as I went into the girls' locker room to shower. Hmm, maybe even my bruises would wash off! After that little breakthrough conversation with Warren, I could feel optimistic about anything.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers 2oopm, Nival Vixen, Indigo Bluu, smokeydog, west trekker, Readerfreak10, cheekybumbum, papersoul, Nelle07, and ShadowRess. I got back from my trip and checked my email and there were reviews! Seriously, it's like Christmas for me.

Far as I know (and Google knows), Sonny Sandoval was the first to use the name Nevaeh. If anyone knows an older Nevaeh…let me know, because either Google is wrong or you know someone going by a fake name, and how cool is that? Unless they turn out to be a crazy psycho, in which case, you might not want to let her know that you know that she has a fake name. If that made any sense, which it did to me, but then it's been awhile since I slept, so a lot of stuff is making sense to me right now that other people think is gibberish (which it might be, but right now I understand all, so it's all good).


	14. Burn it All Down as My Anger Reigns

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Fourteen – Burn it All Down as My Anger Reigns**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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That evening, Warren actually stopped and talked to me once the dinner rush had died down, and he wasn't so busy. He dropped his latest tub of dishes onto the counter next to the sink I was working in.

I was gross and sweaty after doing the dishes for three hours. My hair was scraggling it's way out of the messy bun and short baby hairs stuck to my forehead. And yet, when Warren leaned against the counter, I felt less messy and more…something else. I tried to identify the feeling. It should have been rather easy to do—I was an empath, after all—yet I refused to acknowledge that the new feeling might be giddiness.

Warren continued to stand there, staring off into space. I was about to say something when he turned and casually, more out of habit than an actual intent, started helping me with the dishes he had just brought in.

I admit, I lost my powers of speech. The way he looked doing the dishes, all casual and without thought, made me forget anything I had been about to say. I tried to think back, tried to remember if my dad had ever helped with the dishes, but couldn't remember a single time. Then again, my mom hadn't exactly helped either. Our housekeeper, Lucy, had handled that kind of stuff.

Still, I was rather impressed with Warren helping me so casually. I wondered if it was an automatic reaction after growing up with a single mom. Even though Geneva Peace was a doctor, she and Warren weren't exactly rolling in the dough, ergo no housekeeper. My aunt had tried to explain that they lived in the same neighborhood as us (I mean, my aunt was a nurse for crying out loud; not exactly a money maker occupation) because Geneva didn't have much business sense. She also rarely managed to hold onto her money, and most of it went to charities, or to Sky High for Warren's tuition.

Once we'd finished most of the dishes and I could take a break, I turned to look at him. "Have you ever played Save the Citizen before?"

He nodded. "A couple of times. People think fire power will tip the scales in their favor, so a few of the really brave students will choose me to play."

"You ever won?"

"I won today," he pointed out.

"Cute. I meant before today."

"Yes, I've won before today. A couple of times."

"What's a couple of times?" I asked curiously. Their P.E. system was kind of beyond my understanding a lot of the time. I had no idea if winning a couple of times was a good statistic or a bad one.

"Three times. I played three times last year, and won all three."

"Dang! So you're good at that game?"

He nodded. "I suppose. Plus, I usually get paired with a partner who does something really different from my power."

"You ever get stuck with someone who has no powers?" I asked, making a face.

Warren shook his head. "Can't say that I have. Watching you out there today makes me rather grateful for that fact."

"Hey! I wasn't THAT bad," I argued indignantly.

The look he gave me clearly said I was on crack if I actually believed that.

"I wasn't!" I insisted. "Think about it. I didn't give up so Lash continually had to deal with me, which kept him and Speed from ganging up on Connor."

"True," Warren conceded.

I couldn't help my smug grin, although it didn't last long, and in the end, turned out to look more sardonic than smug. "Just think of what I would have been able to do if I could have used my powers."

Warren's look was skeptical, his voice sarcastic, "Blown up the school?"

"Funny. I meant if my powers actually worked like they're supposed to."

"Then you might have been a force to be reckoned with."

"I almost did it," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Warren looked around, then leaned forward and whispered back, "Did what?"

"Used my powers during the game today. It was right after Connor told me to use my powers, then sent Speed crashing towards me, which threw me against the wall, which I'd already had about enough of. I wanted to use them. I wanted to show everyone that I had power. I wanted to show them that they were wrong and that throwing me into walls might not be the best move for their health."

"You're good at that," Warren said, a thoughtful look on his face.

Okay, I was slightly confused. It seemed like an abrupt jumping of topics. "At what? Crashing into the walls?"

"At keeping your anger under control. I've seen you do it before, too. That day last week when that waiter dumped four plates of hot food on you."

I shrugged. "It was an accident."

"True, but I could tell you were still pissed off. Maybe not at Oliver, but at having food dumped on you."

"Well, it's hard to stay angry at food."

"Would you just shut up and take the compliment?" Warren was looking irritated. I shut up. "I'm just trying to say that you're good at controlling your anger. And your other emotions. They don't control you."

"Like yours?" I asked softly, but not in a spiteful or unkind way. Just honest.

He looked at me. "Yeah. I want to control the anger. I want to control the hurt, and the frustration, and the sadness, and the rage. But I never seem able to. They just…spiral. All it takes is one little thing, and I lose it. I try. I really do. I keep myself in check and guarded and then something happens. My control goes up in smoke and I start flaming." He sat on the edge of the dishwashing counter.

I leaned against it, next to him. "You do know that a lot of that loss of control comes from your being a fire elemental?"

He nodded. "My mom explained that once. But even still…other fire elementals don't go around trying to roast freshmen."

"True," I admitted, nodding. "But that was yesterday. Today, you had opportunities where you could have fireballed him during the game and claimed you were just trying to hit Speed or Lash. You didn't."

"Eh, Speed and Lash made pretty good outlets for all of that rage."

"Now who can't take the compliment?"

He had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Okay, you're right. But there's still no guarantee that I can control the anger rather than letting it control me."

I took a deep breath before I spoke my next thought. "Maybe there's a trigger that's helping you lose control more than most fire elementals."

Confusion made his eyebrows come together. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm going to try something. And remember, I'm an empath, so I can tell if you're lying."

"No, you can't. I thought you said something once about having to keep your shields up at all times."

I shrugged. Now, how to explain this part. "I do…it's just that sometimes, with certain people or certain emotions, things kind of leak through. Or it's like my shields are made of glass instead of solid sheets of metal, and even if I can't feel the other person' emotions, I can see them and identify them through the shields. Anyway, it's like that with you. Sometimes."

"Wait, so you can read me?"

Eep, we might not get to test my trigger theory if he got really irritated right now. "No, wait, that's not what I said. I said sometimes. And it's not on purpose. Most of the time. There's just not much I can do. Like I said, it's as if the shields are glass sometimes and there's no getting around seeing other people's emotions," I explained, very, very quickly.

It seemed to work. Warren's look changed from accusatory and hostile to simply wary. Without too much suspicion. Which I guess was an improvement. "So, what were you going to try?"

I kind of edged away from him a bit and made sure the hose to wash the dishes was within quick and easy reach. "I'm just wondering if your trigger has less to do with Will Stronghold, and more to do with your dad."

"Nobody. Nobody talks about my dad. Not even you." His hands were smoldering.

Crap. Well…this was one way to work on his anger management. I grabbed the high-pressured nozzle and sprayed his hands. I got a little bit of his lap in the process, but at least he didn't set the kitchen on fire. That was good…right? And would he see it that way…

I cringed as I stood in front of him, still holding the incriminating dish washer. I quickly threw it back into the sink. "Okay, so...he might have something to do with it." I almost said 'your dad' but figured I'd better stick to being vague for the time being.

Warren was looking slightly shocked. "You just sprayed me!"

"Yeah, but see, it was for a good cause. See? We figured out a little bit more of your elemental side. Right? Good cause?" I was taking baby steps backwards. I'd already thrown the hose, so if he flamed up now, my only other option was the sink on the opposite wall. It also had a water hose, but was at least ten feet away.

Warren grabbed the water hose and sprayed my shoulder. "Now see that? Payback. THAT'S a good cause."

I was about to make a dash for the other sink and the other hose, because this was declaring war, when Lisa, one of the evening waitresses came in. I stopped where I was and tried not to look like a guilty five-year-old. Which was difficult, since the look she was giving me said that's how she saw me. Oops.

She smacked her gum one last time before she said, "Warren, you've got a phone call."

He nodded. "Thanks, Lisa." After she left the back room, Warren looked from me, to the water hose, then back to me.

"Oh, hell no. You have a phone call. That means truce," I informed him. He looked like he might grumble, but I shook my head to let him know that nope, there wasn't going to be any arguing.

"Fine," he said. I watched carefully as he put the dish washing hose back into the big sink. Good, nothing funny. He gave it one last wistful look, then looked from it to me, and then back again. Still wistful.

With a shrug, he walked away from the sink, towards the phone by the door. I dashed in front of the sink, reclaiming my rightful place.

I went back to washing the dishes, running the water to give him a modicum of privacy so it wouldn't seem like I was listening to his side of the conversation. Which I couldn't hear anyway, since he was talking so quietly. Not that I would have attempted to listen in. Nope.

I was still arguing with myself over the level of bad-friend-ness it would be to listen in on his side of the conversation, when he came up behind me. Oops, I hadn't even realized he was off the phone.

"Tyler, can you do me a favor? A big favor?"

He was practically whispering. I had to stop spraying the water in order to hear him. This was intriguing. "Sure."

"I need you to cover for me. I know you're supposed to be off at 8:30, but if you could just stay and cover my tables for me, I would really appreciate it. And I think I'll be back by nine."

Whoa. "Where are you going that it's going to take you an hour to do what you have to do?"

He looked around again to make sure no one could hear him. His voice was pitched low and was very quiet when he answered, "I need to go get my mom. She powered out."

I know a look of alarm crossed my face before I could control it. "What do you mean, powered out?"

"She does that sometimes. She… I love my mom, don't get me wrong. But she doesn't have a lot of common sense when it comes to her power. She's too much of a bleeding heart and doesn't know when to stop."

"When to stop?" I wasn't even sure what Geneva Peace's power was, but I was a little confused about powering out.

He seemed to consider my question for a moment. "I guess you wouldn't run into this kind of a problem with empathy. But with a lot of active powers, using them is just like running or exercising. It takes a lot of energy. And eventually, you don't have any left. Most supers know their limits and know when they need to stop. Like with me, I start to get really cold, and the tips of my fingers go numb. I know I need to stop, take a break, and rest before I do anything else."

Weird. I had never thought about active powers like that. I wondered if my parents had limits like that. "And your mom?"

He sighed. "She knows that point, and she can feel it go past, but she just keeps pushing herself. A little bit more. Just a little longer. Until she's forced to quit. By that time, she usually doesn't even have the energy to stand, let alone drive home."

"You've had to do this before?" I surmised.

"Yeah. And if Mama Wu finds out I left in the middle of my shift again, she just might be irritated enough to fire me."

I gave him a look. "Mama Wu thinks you hung the moon and the stars."

He gave me a half-grin. Kind of goofy and cute looking. "True. But she still doesn't like anything disrupting her business. And since I got my driver's license, my mom's power-outs have been increasing because she trusts that I'll come and get her."

Shrugging, I said, "Fine, but you better go quick. She doesn't usually come down till it's closer to closing time, but you never know. If she does, I'll tell her you had to run to the store or something."

"Run to the store? Have you never covered for anyone before?" His look said my stealth skills left something to be desired.

"Just trust me. And you'll be back nine, right? I was going to talk to Aunt Paige tonight before we both crashed."

"I'll try."

"The hospital's not _that_ far away."

"She not at the hospital. And since she has the car, I have to take the bus to get there."

"Oh."

"What were you going to talk to your aunt about? Something important?"

"Just some school stuff. We're covering Dynamite's trial in our current events class."

Warren eyebrows raised a bit. "Well, that sucks."

I gave him a grim nod, and one of those forced what-can-you-do smiles. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"I will really try to be back by nine," he said, taking off his green apron and putting it down on the middle table before heading towards the back door that led to the alley and the dumpsters.

"Thanks. If you're late, that's okay. I'll just talk to her tomorrow. We're going to be covering the trial for the next two months. Leaves plenty of nights to talk to Aunt Paige."

Warren stopped, still facing the door, his hand on the knob. "You seem remarkably well adjusted to having supervillain parents. Why are you so calm about everything, when I get angry just hearing Will's name?" He turned his head to look at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him. Come on, he knew the answer to this question. Everyone did.

"Oh, right, you spent the summer—"

My look dared him to finish that sentence. He got the hint.

"But it helped?" There was a serious undertone to the question. He really wanted to know.

I nodded. "A lot."

He didn't say anything else before he went out the back door and into the alley. The door closed behind him, and I grabbed his green half-apron and tied it around my waist. I grabbed a pitcher of water and headed through the door to the kitchen and then out into the restaurant.

I had just emptied the pitcher and had turned to head back to the kitchen when I ran into a customer. I was glad the pitcher was empty or it might have been a repeat of my first day. I looked up, ready to apologize, but the words got stuck in my throat.

"Sorry about that, I don't always pay attention to where I'm going," the girl spoke first. She had one of those easy smiles. The kind that said it was natural for her to be in a good mood.

I knew what I was supposed to say. Something about how I was sorry, it was my fault, I should have been more careful, and I needed to pay attention. That's what I meant to say. Only, when I opened my mouth, I said, "You look like your mom." I do believe I was as surprised as her when the words flew out of my mouth. But by then, it was far too late to take them back, and they just kind of hung in the air between us.

The redhead was looking at me with that quizzical look on her face, that do-I-know-you-or-am-I-supposed-to-know-you-and-should-I-feel-bad-that-I-don't look.

I answered the question she had been too polite to ask. "No, you don't know me. But you're Layla Green. Whisper's daughter. You look exactly like her."

Layla smiled, that bright, sunshine smile. "Yeah, people tell us that all the time. Wow, I almost never hear anyone use her super name. Sometimes, I forget she even has one. How do you know my mom?" Her voice lowered once she used the word "super."

What was I supposed to say? I had been the one to bring it up, but it was an accident – I'd just been rather shocked to run into Layla. I mean, I'd been prepared if I ever ran into her at school, I'd expected it would happen sooner or later, but seeing her here had thrown me off guard. So what did I tell her now? Whisper helped take down my parents? Your mom killed my dad? My parents were evil supervillains that your mom fought against?

Hello, can of worms, let me open you up, please. I think not. "We're studying Dynamite's trial in our current events class," I explained, also speaking quietly.

"Oh, right. I remember when my mom was gone for that week. My dad could NOT stop worrying about her. But everything turned out fine. Dynamite swore she'd have her revenge, but it's not like she can do that from solitary."

"Yeah," I agreed, hoping my smile didn't look as forced, fake, and downright sickly as it felt. "Not likely."

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Thanks to ShadowRess and 2oopm for your quick reviews on Chapter 13! I was able to get Chapters 13 & 14 out so quickly because they were originally the same chapter…the same REALLY long chapter. Along with Chapter 15, but it's only half done and it won't be up as quickly as 14. But it's on its way…


	15. So Easily Deceived

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Fifteen – Never Thought You'd Be So Easily Deceived**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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I checked my watch. It was 8:45. Warren would be back soon. And everything would be better – I would be able to stay in my little back room, away from all the customers. I would be able to focus on just washing dishes and not on keeping the customers happy. I would be able to focus on recovering my emotions and getting rid of the tension that was currently keeping my spine ramrod straight.

"Nevaeh? I know you're covering Warren's tables and all, but don't forget to take out the trash tonight," Lisa reminded me as I headed into the backroom with a tub of dishes.

"Thanks," I replied, hoping that none of the sarcasm that I felt should be dripping from my voice was actually present, "I almost forgot."

She smiled that smarmy fake smile that mean girls give other girls when they tell them they like their hair when really, they despise it and it makes you look like a loser.

I grabbed the trash from the kitchen first, then put it together with the trash from the back dishes room. It made for one big trash bag. That smelled funny. Gross.

There's an alley behind the Paper Lantern. I guess it's your typical alley: dark, dank, narrow, smelly, sketchy, and scary. I really didn't notice anything when I first went out there. The alley seemed like its normal, scary self.

The dumpster we use is about fifteen feet away from the back door, but it seemed a whole heck of a lot further away when I lugged the trash over to it. I focused on trying to keep the bag from dragging on the ground (my first day, I didn't think about heavy bags of garbage, cement, and friction, and then had to spend half an hour picking up the trash), but couldn't carry it very far off the ground, due to the demon-introduced P.E. game, Save the Citizen. I suspected it had the same origin and founders as dodgeball. Stupid demons and their targeting the weaker students to be harassed and humiliated during P.E. I hated dodgeball in elementary school and I hated Save the Citizen now. It stood to reason that they originated from the same evil-minded people.

These evil-minded people seemed determined to keep me from doing my job. I stared at the bag of trash. And the height of the dumpster. My shoulders laughed at me, seeming to say, As if! After Save the Citizen, if I thought I was going to be able to get that bag up there…

Alright, no hope for it, I had to use my telekinetic powers to levitate the bag into the dumpster—oh wait, I don't have those powers! Hoover Dam, I was just going to have to put everything I had into getting enough momentum to swing the bag into the dumpster.

I was in mid-heave when I heard his voice. "Have you given any more thought to Homecoming?"

Startled, I lost the momentum for my throw and the heaping bag of smelly, disgusting trash almost came back down on me. I quickly half-stepped, half-fell out of the way and let it hit the ground. Hard. The side split and pieces of paper and plastic wrappers and smelly containers started to spill out onto the ground. Flipping A.

Josh was behind me. He wrinkled his nose. "Do you work Friday night? You will shower before the dance, right?"

There was something different about this encounter. He was the same cocky, self-assured, confident jerk from this morning, but this morning, we had been surrounded by other people in the hallway. While he had been annoying and slightly scary, it was no where near the amount of fear I felt now, being alone with him in a back alley.

If he'd tried to steal my powers at school, there would have been witnesses. I started wishing like no other for a couple of witnesses to materialize. None did, of course, and I was still left alone in an alley with Josh, the power stealing freak, who, should he steal my power and discover what it was, could ruin everything that I had spent the last three weeks building.

While three weeks seemed like a short amount of time, everything that had been achieved in that time constraint seemed huge – Warren, Tara, Aunt Paige, starting a new school, sidekick theory, history, the trial starting, getting a job. If Josh ever got close enough to steal my power and figure out who I was, he could and would ruin everything, of that I had no doubt.

"Go. Away."

"Aw, now don't be mean. I'm just waiting for an answer." His voice was reasonable and teasing, as though this was real and he was just a normal guy doing some normal flirting with a normal girl. None of which was true.

He smiled at me as he leaned back. Against the Paper Lantern's alley door.

I tried to keep my panic in check (he seemed like the kind of creepy predator that could smell fear). "Hold your breath till you get that answer, kay? Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"No need to run off so fast. I'm sure they won't miss you for a few minutes. Besides, you didn't exactly finish what you came out to do," he said, pointing towards the trash.

I didn't care about the trash. Someone else could come out here and clean it up. My main concern was getting back into the restaurant with its crowd (though limited) and safety (also minimal). But as long as I was out here, alone with him, anything else looked damn good.

There were ten feet separating us. He continued to lean against the door, looking like the cat who had cornered the canary.

Screw that. I was not a canary. "Move. Or I swear by the powers that be, I will move you myself."

It seemed as though Josh had been waiting for this moment. He pushed himself away from the wall, and walked towards me. I took a step back. "You'll move me? How? You don't have any powers." Josh was positively gleeful.

I glared at him, only feet separating us. I took another step back – and hit the brick wall. "Oooh, congratulations, you figured me out. Which means you have no reason to be harassing me, so you and your hands can just get out of here."

Then his grin turned evil, and he continued as if I hadn't even spoken. "That, or you have a power you don't want to demonstrate in front of the whole school."

I had to get out of here. The good news was that he wasn't leaning against the door. The bad news was that he was still between it and me. If it had been anyone but Josh, I really would have been able to move him without using my powers. I'd had my black belt since I was twelve and was fully able to defend myself.

But not against a super who could steal my powers if I had to use bodily contact in order to get him out of the way.

I wish this was like a kids' movie, where I could yell, "Look, it's Barney!" and Josh would turn to the side and I could dash past him and back into the restaurant. Unfortunately, Hollywood is a big, fat liar, and that wasn't going to work here.

"Look, Josh," I started, then gave a small squeak (which I will deny doing until my dying day) when he took another step forward. I tried to retreat again, but there was that dang wall in the way, and I only succeeded in stumbling off to the side, further away from the restaurant. "You don't want my powers. Trust me. Stress. It's a killer."

"Powers, huh? As in plural?"

My eyes widenend. "No. Don't be stupid. Nobody has more than one power."

"And yet, you said I don't want your powers. So what are they? Why would I not be interested?" He was still smiling and sidling closer to me. I took another step back and more towards the side. Okay, a plan was forming in my mind. Far fetched. Rather disgusting. But at least it was a plan.

"I just meant powers as in a combo pack. Like Warren's fire-throwing and semi-invincibility, because you can't light yourself on fire without some kind of self-protecting shield. Or like The Commander with his strength and his semi-invincibility." I took another step to the side. Josh took another step towards me. Oh God, he was within reach, standing right in front of me.

"Are you hinting that you have semi-invincibility?" His right hand raised a little bit, almost touching my hand, and I was suddenly grateful like no other than I had gloves on. Yay for health and safety laws. His hand kept going up, keeping about an inch between his palm and my arm (thankfully covered by a long-sleeve shirt, and yes, that is now all I will ever wear or buy again).

I refused to panic, I refused to panic, I refused to panic. "No, I don't have that kind of power. Trust me, I would not still be in pain from Save the Citizen if that were true."

"I guess you're right. And you probably wouldn't have gotten this cut on your forehead, either." His hand passed my shoulder now and raised towards my hairline.

Okay, time to panic! Once he got above the protective clothing, and near my face? Yeah, panic was allowed there.

I jerked away to my right and stumbled over the garbage, ending up in a half-crouch on the other side of the bag. And here's hoping that spur of the moment plans really do work.

When I stood, I brought the trash up with me, using the momentum from standing up and a jerk of my arms to bring it swinging into his face. The only reason it worked was because Josh was so surprised.

The bag caught him under the chin, and when I released the bag, he went down with it and I dashed for the door. Please oh please oh please let it be open.

It was, I darted inside as fast as I could, and I locked the door behind me. I didn't stop to see if he had gotten up yet, or if he was already on his feet and coming after me. I was safe.

For now.

I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Okay, safe for now. And that was okay. He wouldn't bother me in front of people. Or at least he wouldn't be taking my powers in front of people. Harassing me in the school hallway, yes. Stealing my powers with others around, no.

"Tyler?"

I'd closed my eyes once the door was locked, but they flew wide open immediately. When I registered that it was only Warren standing in front me, they relaxed a bit and I hopefully looked more like a normal, non-scared girl than a deer in the headlights.

"You okay?" He sounded worried. I let myself enjoy that for a half-second.

"Yeah, I'm fine. There was a mouse." Yes, go brain-mouth connection! It actually sounded plausible.

"Seriously?" he asked. And yes, it might sound ridiculous, but hey, some people are insanely afraid of mice. I just might be one of them. Weasels are close to that rodent family, right? Because now, I was definitely afraid of weasels.

"Cross my heart." I didn't finish the rest of the children's honesty oath, because when you think about it, it's actually a really creepy thing to be swearing to.

Well, at least Warren had gotten back before Mama Wu came into the kitchen. Thank God, because I really didn't have any excuse as a cover for him – he was right, my stealth skills did need working on.

"Hey, thanks for covering for me," he said as he held out his hand. I took off the half-apron and handed it over.

"No real covering involved. Mama Wu hasn't made an appearance yet. And you got back before you thought you would."

"Still, thanks. You heading home now?"

Home. Right. It was a good 10 blocks away. I'd just managed to make it safely inside and I didn't have any other escape artist plans up my sleeve. "You're off soon, right? I'll just walk home with you." I tried to smile like there was nothing wrong, and I just wanted to hang out with him.

Well, that _would_ be a bonus…

Warren was giving me a funny look. "I'm off at 10. And you said you wanted to talk to your aunt."

Innocent smile. 100 wattage. "I didn't think you'd actually make it back before at least 9:30, so I called and told her I'd be late tonight, and she said that's fine, because she was really wiped out and was heading to bed."

"Huh. Ran into your aunt when my mom and I got to our apartment building. She was just getting home."

"Right. And I just got off the phone with her." Hoover Dam, I'd forgotten about his stellar ability when it came to connecting the dots.

"Before you took the trash out?"

"Right." I hoped he couldn't tell I was gritting my teeth. Didn't want it to interfere with my bright and oh-so-innocent smile.

"Uh huh." He still looked like his dots weren't connected. I'd rather they stayed that way.

"Oh, I haven't been out to the dining area in awhile, because I had a few things to finish up in here. You might want to make a run through."

"It's five to nine. There aren't a whole lot of people left out there."

"I know, but Greg left at 8:30, so you're the only busboy left. Might be nice to check, especially since Mama Wu is due down soon."

"Why do I feel as though you're trying to get rid of me?"

Dang it all to hell, how was I supposed to up the innocence wattage when my smile was already so wide my wisdom teeth were showing? "I'm not. It'd be hard to do, considering that I'm going to be walking home with you."

"Right. Forgot about that."

"Good thing I didn't."

"You sure you're fine?"

"Yup." Hey, look, my nose was growing. "Besides, I didn't get to finish up in here, since I was trying to cover your job too. I need to get stuff done. You're distracting me."

He gave me one last considering look before he grabbed the pitcher off the island and went into the kitchen.

I tried to stay as quiet as possible when I let out all the breath and tension I'd been holding in. Lord, the boy was like a tenacious dog with a sock or something.

I ran for the phone and called Aunt Paige to let her know I wouldn't be home till after 10.

When I'd finished my before-I-leave-for-the-night tasks, I was sitting, waiting for Warren's shift to end, when I remembered that I hadn't warned him Layla was out there. Crap! I thought we'd made some progress with his temper-to-flame trigger, but I still didn't want to feel responsible for any barbecued freshmen because I hadn't warned him his archenemy's best friend was in the restaurant.

I rushed through the door that led to the kitchen and skidded to a halt. From the kitchen, I could see over the order counter, into the dining area.

Warren wasn't flame broiling Will's best friend. He was sitting with her. And listening.

Was this some alternate universe? Since no one else was around to help me, I held my own hand to my forehead to check for a fever. Because, seriously, this had to be some kind of delusion.

Warren was sitting with Layla. And I'd been worried about him killing her, when instead, it looked like he was hanging on her every word.

My stomach felt funny. Kind of twisty. Like it had been turned upside down. I slinked back to the dishes room.

Being an empath had its advantages and disadvantages. One of the advantages was being able to easily identify emotions. Only right now, I was viewing this ability as more of a disadvantage—I didn't like knowing that I was jealous of Layla. I mean, come ON! Layla? Of all the students I might envy at Sky High, I would have placed her…well, last on that list. Nothing against her, specifically, just the blood she shared and the company she kept weren't exactly envy-inducing for me.

Warren and I were friends. And yeah, there was the slight issue of my crush on him. Which I thought I did a fairly good job of ignoring whenever we were together. As to how he felt towards me…that question left me wondering.

If this had all happened last year, I would have read him (I know, there are those moral integrity and privacy and right and wrong issues involved in reading someone without their permission). I might have felt slightly guilty, but I would have known where I stood, and the guilt? Yeah, I'd have gotten over it. Seriously, empathy had to have _some_ perks.

But that wasn't an option for me now (stupid genetics – whoever invented them had to be on crack, and possibly evil). And now I was left wondering and questioning like a normal teenage girl. Which was ridiculous since I wasn't normal – I was supposed to be super.

A long, loud string of slightly angry Chinese snapped me out of my musings. Oooh, Mama Wu was here, and she did not sound thrilled to have found Warren sitting with the customers rather than serving them or hurrying them out the door and clearing the table.

Warren answered her in Chinese. When I'd first heard him speak it, I'd been dumbfounded. It wasn't a skill I would have thought he'd possess. Now, I was used to them arguing and sniping back and forth in Mandarin. It was actually fairly easy to ignore these days.

While I waited for Warren's shift to end, I continued to think about our friendship. We were friends, right? Real friends? It wasn't just because his mom and my aunt were friends. Plus, he was the only person aside from Aunt Paige and Principal Powers who knew who I was, and I trusted him with the secret; hell, I trusted him with my life (literally—I had images of pitchforks and torches and citizens storming the Paper Lantern if word got out that Maxville was where I had relocated to). I thought about all of our interactions thus far…big and small, looks or conversations.

Yeah. We were friends – that wasn't something I needed to question and it wasn't something that I needed my empathy to tell me. We just were.

And I wouldn't have been protesting if it progressed to something more. But if we just stayed friends? That would be okay with me; it beat the alternative of not being anything with him.

"Tyler? You ready?"

Warren was standing almost directly in front of me, his jacket over his arm, his apron already put away. Crap. "Yeah, just let me grab my sweater and my bag. Can we go out the front?"

He nodded, without saying anything about the fact that going out the back was a shortcut, for which I was grateful. I knew he knew something was up, but as long as he didn't bug me about it, and as long as I wasn't wandering the streets of Maxville alone, Josh didn't matter. It made him easier to ignore, easier to pretend the Josh problem didn't exist.

"You never did answer my question yesterday," Warren said as we started to walk home.

"Which question?"

"Do you write to your mom?"

I almost tripped, just like I had the day before, but caught myself. I glanced around the street, wondering if anyone had heard him. Even though I didn't see anyone, I could sense someone following us. There was another presence, emotions aside from Warren's that were waiting on the other side of my empath shields. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who that other entity was, which was why I was whispering when I said vehemently, "Um, hell no! She doesn't know where I am. I'd like to keep it that way. As far as she should know, I'm a ward of the state of California."

"You're hiding from her?" His voice was almost at a normal volume level and I motioned for him to keep his voice down.

"Not…technically. I just don't want her to know where I am. She'd blow my cover, just for fun."

"So…you're hiding from her."

"If you want to get bogged down in details, then yes," I agreed, exasperated. "What about you? Do you write to your dad? And don't tell me that he's a taboo subject, considering that you opened yourself up for this line of questioning."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

There was a long pause. I broke first. "Well? Do you?"

"No. I used to, when I was little and thought he would be coming home in another month or two. Even when I understood that it would be a long while before he was home again, I still wrote."

"But you don't now?"

"Nope."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Because he never wrote back. And then one day, he did."

"So you stopped _after_ he wrote back? Why?"

"The first time he wrote back to me? It was three weeks after I'd gotten my power. I didn't understand the letter the first time I read it. Telling me the laundry needed to be picked up on Tuesday. Asked me to use a match to open our cat's kennel door because it was stuck. We didn't have a cat, by the way."

Dang, I didn't even have an appropriately sympathetic sound to make, forget having any kind of comforting words.

"Once I realized what the hell he was talking about, I figured we didn't have anything left to say to each other."

"Yeah. My parents pretty much ignored me until I gained the empathy power. Until then, I was something waiting to happen, but I wasn't anything yet. And then, when I was in eighth grade, I became the center of their universe. They spent time with me and talked to me and helped me work with my powers since I didn't attend a super school until 9th grade. Back then, I only had intake powers. And I was good, and they were always going out of their way to tell me how proud they were, and how they couldn't wait till I developed my projection power." I looked at Warren. "You're stronger than I was."

"Not hardly. Your parents were just better at manipulation than my dad was. Which I'm guessing had something to do with your dad's empathic powers. Sounds like they knew how to screw with your head to get you to do what they wanted," Warren argued. He stopped for a second, then added, "Sorry. I didn't mean to talk about your parents that way."

I shrugged. "Don't apologize when it's the truth. They were rather sly and insidious about the whole thing. Sounds like your dad was about as subtle as a ton of bricks."

He nodded. "Pretty much. Kind of disillusions a kid who's waiting at the window for their dad to come home." The sympathy and heartbreak that the mental image produced must have been showing on my face. "Well, I was waiting at the window and sticking pins and needles into an old Commander action figure I had. Not all sunshine and innocence, remember?"

"Too true. Speaking of which…Layla Green? Isn't she best friends with your archenemy?"

"Best friends with and in love with. She talked about him for about a half-hour straight."

"So you got to sit there that entire time listening to Will-stories? Dude, that's classic!"

"Shut up. And if you tell anyone, like Tara, that—"

"That you're a big old teddy bear, all soft and mushy?" It felt good to smile and joke about something a little bit more lighthearted.

"I am NOT a teddy bear," he growled.

"Right. Then you admit to the soft and mushy part? Want to have a chick flick marathon this weekend? We can watch all your favorites if you want."

We were almost to the apartment buildings, which meant that as fun and easy as it was to tease Warren, all good things must come to an end.

As we passed Warren's building, he didn't even hesitate. While he wasn't sure what was going on, he did know something was up, and didn't bother to ask if I needed him to go all the way to my apartment building with me.

It made me smile.

"See you tomorrow morning," Warren said.

I nodded. Now how to go about asking him to…

"I'll meet you here and we can walk to the busstop."

"Sounds good," I replied. He turned and headed down the steps to the sidewalk. "And Warren? Thanks."

He turned and shrugged. "Not a problem. Besides, if I'm patient, I'll figure everything out soon enough."

I really hoped not. Having Warren know I was letting some idiot bully scare me left a gross aftertaste in my mouth. I wasn't sure if it came from him knowing how much of a coward I could be since I was allowing the bullying, or not wanting him to think I needed some strong hero to come to my rescue. I didn't like thinking of myself as the Disney damsel in distress and damned if I would let Warren see me that way.

Besides, I could handle this. A boy's attention span lasts, what, 30 seconds? Josh would get tired, bored, or frustrated and he'd give up. I just had to wait it out.

Safely inside, I turned and watched Warren walk next door. He didn't see Josh in the shadows of the building across the street, and he didn't see Josh wave at me and smile.

Thank the powers that be for small favors.

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Thanks to reviewers 2oopm, papersoul, Readerfreak10, Zoycitenega, smokeydog, cheekybumbum, ladydaystar, Kara Adar, lovestoread, and Indigo Bluu. I like reviews – they're like candy and sugar highs :)

Okay, a little bit of pimpage and explanation – the style of my writing, with the plot twists and hints, comes from watching so much "Veronica Mars." If you're not familiar with the show, but like how you learn a little bit more with each chapter of this story, you should check out the series, which just finished its second season. It's fantastic.


	16. Give Up, Give In, Check the Grin

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Sixteen – Give Up, Give In, Check the Grin**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

Author's Note: I had this chapter written on June 21, and included a note that said I would be gone for three weeks to the land of no phones, computers, or internet. However, I tried all night on the 20th to update, and all morning on the 21st to update, but it wasn't working. So I apologize for the three-week break, and just want to make sure no one thinks this is one of those stories you start reading only to find out it's been abandoned.

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"Well, if it isn't my new favorite sidekick."

I groaned inwardly. Let's see, a hero bullying me at my locker. Must be a day that ends in –ay. My locker may as well have had a big red sign proclaiming "Nevaeh Tyler's locker." How was it that the bullies always knew?

Outwardly, I kept an even expression on my face as I asked (and I was being on my best no-sarcasm, polite behavior), "I need to put my books away, if you could please step to the side, just for a moment."

He grinned, seeming to find that request hilarious. His lanky body stayed firmly planted in front of my locker.

Okay, screw polite. "Move. Now"

"Or what?"

See! I knew this would happen! I knew as soon as "heroes" found out that I had "no" power, they would target me. It was written in the Bible for Bullies: "Thou shalt target the weak and helpless."

It just figured that Lash would be leading the way.

I stepped up to the row of lockers, doing my best to ignore Lash as I reached behind him and opened my locker, then swung the door out as hard as I could, catching Lash unawares, which prevented him from taking the force of the locker door with his elasticity. He took it in his shoulder.

"Watch it, sidekick! Or you're gonna find out just how bad this school can be for squibs."

I threw my books into my locker and slammed the door shut before turning to him. "This is my scared face. Really. If you stay quiet, you just might hear my knees knocking. Possibly a teeth chatter or two. And can I just tell you, a squib is someone from a magical, witchcraft family that can't do magic. Not someone from a super line that doesn't have a power, although let me just take a minute to be impressed that you have apparently, at some point in your life, picked up a book. Congratulations. Secondly, I have a power. Empathy. It's just not very effective in scenarios like Save the Citizen, which is heavily biased towards heroes with an active power."

"Oh, you're an empath. Right." His tone clearly said he thought I was making it up. "Prove it." He turned to face me, stepping up in front of me. Now my back was to the lockers, which I preferred to having an open back in the hallway. More Fighting Strategy lessons from the parental units. Though I think when they were teaching me these types of things, I was supposed to be the bully in the scenario.

"Fine," I agreed, seething. He was really annoying me now. Unlike Josh, Lash wasn't a very real threat to me, so his bullying tactics irritated me instead of scaring me. "You feel insecure. Probably about your power. You know it's not as good a power as, for example, Warren Peace's, or Stronghold's, or Josh's. Or even Speed's. You don't like feeling less than them, so you go looking for people that you see as being less than you. You got your butt kicked yesterday by Warren and Will, so you came looking for an ego fix and figured no one would work better than the Sidekick you beat during Save the Citizen, right before your humiliating defeat. For you, being without a power means you're less than even the Sidekicks you terrorize. Your biggest fear is the detention room because it doesn't just neutralize your power. The detention room makes you nothing." I stared at him, refusing to back down. I wanted to add something like, "Because you ARE nothing," but I refrained. There was no need—my point had been made.

He stepped forward and shoved me back against the lockers. I had kind of suspected that he would react like this, so I was braced for it and was able to stop my head from slamming back. Go me! Now he was leaning down, staying in my face. "Keep out of my head, bitch."

I already knew I wouldn't win in a physical confrontation with Lash, seeing as how his elasticity made it nearly impossible to take him down with karate, so I didn't shove him back a step or two. But I refused to cower in front of him or let him intimidate me. "Might I remind you that YOU are the one who told me to prove my empathic power. But aside from that, I wasn't even using my empath power. There was no need," I dryly informed him. "It's Bully Psych 101. You're like the poster child."

When I finished speaking, I was still looking Lash in the eyes. And I recognized something there – that murderous anger I'd seen from my mom so often growing up. I realized then that Lash would one day be a villain, and I don't mean during the next bout of Save the Citizen. No, he would be a real villain, probably starting not too long after he graduated from Sky High.

Whatever retribution or pain Lash was about to dish out was interrupted when Warren came around the corner and saw us. He took in the situation in less than half a second.

Oh Lord. If he started a fight in the hallway, just two days after destroying the cafeteria, he might just go from an In School Suspension to a real suspension.

Warren stopped about a foot away from Lash and me. He turned to me, not even acknowledging that Lash was there. "Tyler, you eat lunch yet?"

Huh? "Uh…no. I was on my way to the cafeteria."

"You brought your lunch today?"

If I had run this scenario in my head fifty times to calculate the different outcomes, this conversation would not be one of them. I would almost think I was hallucinating Lash, as much attention as Warren was giving him, except the bruise on my shoulder now had a bruise. I think I was struck speechless. Yeah, that's what this feeling was. No words would come to me, so I just patted my messenger bag to indicate that my lunch was in there.

"Want to eat out on the lawn?"

I could only nod.

"Good," Warren said, brushing past Lash and using his body to herd me along and move me from the spot I'd been frozen to since he'd turned the corner.

What the heck was going on here? Had he interpreted the situation correctly, or did he think it had been something other than what it was? I was so confused. As we went out the front doors and I restrained myself from turning to see if anyone was behind us in the hallway, I began with a bewildered, "Warren?"

I looked at him a little more closely and realized his eyes had turned from their regular medium brown color to an almost burnt orange color. With a bit of a red tint. I stepped back from him and realized his fists were steaming.

Holy shitake mushrooms! Warren was PISSED!

"Warren?" This time when I said his name, it was more wary than confused. "You okay?"

He glanced at me. "Shouldn't that be my question?"

I looked at him and couldn't stop the huge smile that was spreading across my face.

"You just had a potentially serious and dangerous run-in with Lash, and now you're grinning like an idiot?"

I let the idiot comment slide. "Warren!"

He looked jolted by my excited shout. Then it was his turn to be wary. "Yes?"

"Do you realize what you just did?"

"Backed down from a fight with Lash, which I'll soon be regretting?"

"No!" I think I was startling him with my enthusiasm. "Warren, you controlled your anger!"

"And that makes you act like a lunatic? I'll have to remember not to do that again."

I kept grinning because even though he was trying to brush it off, I knew this realization thrilled him as much as it did me.

I skipped to the railing and hopped over so I could sit on the lawn while I ate my lunch. He followed me at a much more sedate pace. Loser.

"Warren just had a breakthrough, Warren just had a breakthrough," I said in a sing-song voice.

"You keep that up and I'll be breaking through you soon enough."

"Oh yeah, NOW I'm scared."

"Speaking of which – you could afford to be a little more scared around Lash. Might breed some small amount of caution."

"Oh, please, what can he do? Beat me up? Big deal. No, I'll reserve all my fear for…" I stopped when I remembered that I wasn't telling Warren about the Josh issue. "Well, for scarier bullies. Who are more than human rubber bands."

"Which means who?" he asked. I could tell by the way he was digging through his bag lunch, taking extra care not to appear too interested, that he suspected something was up and wanted to know what was going on.

I shrugged, the epitome of casual. Like I was going to forget his patience comment from last night. "I don't know. I hear that flame-boy is kind of scary."

"Funny." He looked like he was going to let the subject go. At least for now. He opened a baggie and started munching.

I looked at what he was eating. "Are those carrot sticks? Dude! It's so obvious that your mom's a doctor. She packs carrot sticks in your lunch." I was still watching him, gleeful, when I noticed the tips of his ears were turning pink. And for once, I doubted it was repressed flame power. Awww, his ears went red when he was embarrassed. Embarrassed? "Wait a minute. Your mom doesn't pack your lunch, does she! You pack your own lunch. And you bring carrot sticks. That's so cute!" I couldn't help the giggles that were escaping. Really, I tried and I just couldn't.

"Shut up," he growled. "They taste good. The fact that carrots are rich in antioxidants and carotenoids is incidental. And they help improve night vision."

By now, I was laying back on the grass, laughing. "You sound like a nutrition pamphlet."

He sighed, but I could tell he was fighting a grin. It was that muscle at the corner of his mouth. It twitched when he was forcing himself to keep a straight face, and gave him away every time. He held the baggie out towards me. "Want one?"

"Well, now I do. You make them sound so healthy and tasty. Thanks," I said, sitting up and snagging a carrot stick. "Underneath your flame-boy loner exterior, you're really a geek at heart."

"Try not to let that get out."

I was still smiling and had started munching on my own PB&J when he asked, "You going to Homecoming?"

The damn sandwich lodged in my throat. Was it just me, or had that come totally out of left field? Or…maybe it wasn't left field – was Warren Peace about to ask me to Homecoming! Oh, good Lord!

So what was I supposed to say in this sitch? Nothing like this had come up during my freshman year. What was the correct answer to let him know I wanted to go, but I wasn't going with anyone, and I wouldn't have minded going with him, but I wasn't desperate? That's what I wanted to tell him, only it had to be in normal, secret social code.

If I said I was thinking about it, it might sound like I was fishing for a date. If I said yes, I was going, it might sound like I already had a date. If I said no, he might not ask at all. If I said I was still waiting to be asked, I would sound like a loser. A desperate loser.

Oh God, how long had it been since his original question? Did he think I was treating the question like it was rocket science? At this point, honestly, rocket science sounded easier.

Okay, now it had been a really long time since he'd asked. I opened my mouth to reply, but instead, I squeaked, "Homecoming?" Great, I sounded like a 7th grade boy hitting puberty – who wouldn't want to go to Homecoming with me? I would be beating them off with a stick!

"Yeah, Homecoming," Warren answered, sorting through his lunch and completely unaware of my dilemma. "I somehow got roped into being Layla's date. Still not sure exactly how that happened."

You have GOT to be kidding me! I groaned and flopped back onto the grass, throwing an arm over my eyes. All of that panic and debating and deliberating, and _that_ was what he had been leading up to!

I hate boys. "Me and Tara and some of the others are thinking of going."

"Others?"

"Tara's friends." I shrugged. I kept waiting for that something to click with them, something that would make them seem like my friends, but it had yet to happen, and I was beginning to doubt that it ever would. They remained "Tara's friends."

He nodded. "Good. Now I can be sure it won't be completely lame and boring."

My eyes snapped open. Now what did THAT mean! That's it, I'm making it official. Boys are not allowed to talk. Ever again. They seemed to be better at ambiguous, social coded, vague speaking that might or might not be a double entendre. Argh.

"So, you're going to Homecoming with Layla. I must say, I didn't see that coming. Apparently that dinner last night was cozier than I thought." Hey, look, I'm a miracle worker – my voice sounded as even as…well, his when he'd asked which bullies were scarier than Lash.

He finished pawing through his lunch and glared at me. "Not like that."

"There's another way for two people to go on a date? Please, enlighten me."

"She's trying to make Stronghold jealous."

I stared at him. No. Way. Layla was going on a date, fake as it may be, with Warren Peace, and was only doing it to get Stronghold! And even more mind blowing, "You agreed?"

"Are you kidding? A free, easy opportunity to annoy Stronghold? Yeah, I'm there."

Oh, this was priceless. I couldn't help the grin that was forming, or that fact that it was mostly wicked. "That's one way to look at it."

He eyed me suspiciously. "What do you mean, one way? If you're talking about me dating Layla being a second way to look at it—"

"No, that's not what I mean. What you're _saying_ is that you're going to Homecoming with Layla for the chance to annoy the boy wonder. What I'm _hearing_ is that you just agreed to play Cupid for Will Stronghold." Just saying it aloud turned my mischievous grin into outright laughter. "Dude! This is priceless!"

Warren scowled at me. "That's NOT how it is."

"Whatever you say! You make such a cute cherub, too."

"You pinch my cheek and I'll roast you. Don't think I won't."

"Can I offer you a bow and arrow?"

"Only if I can use it on you."

"Wait, did you just offer to play Cupid for me, too? Think you can get me a date for Homecoming?"

"Actually, I _do_ know a freshman Sidekick who needs a date," he admitted ruefully as he started to gather his lunch trash.

"What kind of Cupid are you? I want a senior Hero." I put my empty sandwich baggie in my brown bag and threw everything away as we went inside.

"I don't think Cupid takes requests."

"So you're admitting to your Cupid status? That's the first step, you know."

"Thanks so much for helping me realize I had a problem."

"Anytime. Really."

When we reached my classroom and he continued on to Junior Heroes, I was still grinning. Warren Peace: temper-management challenged, flame-boy, and now Cupid.

My grin lasted until I stepped inside the classroom. Lunch had been an interesting diversion, but now it was back to reality. And the fact that today was Wednesday, a.k.a. The Day That Has Officially Been Declared As Torture Nevaeh And Crucify Jenny Conway Day. We were going to finish off the day with current events class. _My_ current events.

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Author's note: Thanks to cheekybumbum, ShadowRess, CMHValex, Readerfreak10, sbuds, 2oopm, papersoul, smokeydog, Nival Vixen, FreeDaChickens, lovestoread, Manderlin, Indigo Bluu, west trekker, Stellar Raven, Rayvin813, The Mayor's Daughter, tlm1633, Superchick09, Phyremage, Outsider Wolf, and Doughnut-87 for reviewing. It's like math: reviews + me snoopy dance everyone else giving me she's-a-psycho looks!


	17. How it Makes You a Weapon

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Seventeen – How it Makes You a Weapon**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay between updates! I'm not sure if this was because I'd taken a three week break from the story and the characters had left my head, or if it was because the fingers on my right hand were bandaged more than The Mummy's, or because I had the Big Showdown pictured so well in my mind that it became difficult to put into words. Maybe it was all of the above. Anyway, here it is, and hopefully, it answers some of the questions that you found yourself asking way back at the beginning of the story. But only some of them. Because I'm slightly evil :)

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Miss Watson's instructions from Monday had been repeating in my head all afternoon, since my lunch with Warren. _"Next class, we're going to branch off a little bit. We've talked a lot about Dynamite and Heartthrob, and what they did. But what about the Conway Kid, and what she did? What's your take on that? Should she have been punished for the part she played in all of this?"_

Awwww, look, Ma! I get to be tried by a jury of my peers just like you!

If the government suddenly decided to start experimenting with making people dissolve through the floor—I'd be the first volunteer signed up. Did I care what kind of mutant freak I might end up looking like after these experiments? Nope, not at all. Anything had to be better than sitting in this classroom, listening to my classmates debate my motivation and actions from that damn day.

The class started by discussing what, exactly, my role had been. As if any of them really knew.

Not that I was about to point that out, of course. What could I say – "Here, I have a firsthand account, and oh yeah, I know all this because I _am_ the Conway Kid"? I really didn't think that would fly. At least not in a way that would have me leaving the classroom without the assistance of a body bag.

After the class had discussed my possible roles and/or intentions for a good fifteen minutes, the debate was getting pretty heated. I was kind of relieved to realize that the class was rather evenly divided on whether or not my actions that day had been deliberate. I admit, I had feared that the entire class (which would mean most likely the entire school) would all firmly be in the she's-guilty corner.

Some students did support that position, yes, but I understood why. Jillian seemed to be leading the crowd of townspeople with pitchforks and rakes. Again, understandable. Her mom had died that day, and it wasn't solely Dynamite's doing. "That evil little witch was involved in all of the plans from the start! Why else would she have been in that exact place at that time?"

Alan opened his mouth. Surprisingly enough, he was leading my defense. It surprised me not because he was defending me (or, as those who believed it had all been deliberate had taken to calling me, that evil little witch – I suspected that this was a toned-down-for-the-classroom title), but because he was rather vehement, and refused to back down or be intimidated. I'd come to think of Alan as the mouse I sat next to. "Coincidence?"

"During an epic battle where her parents were trying to rule California? Yeah, right. You still believe in Santa Claus, don't you?" Jillian asked, snidely.

Ouch. Though I understood her anger and her frustration with the fact that the Conway Kid had seemingly gotten off scott free, I was getting kind of ticked on behalf of my defense team. I had a feeling that Jillian was going to be holding onto some grudges resulting from this debate.

There were a million things I wanted to say in my defense. But I couldn't. My lips were sealed. Instead, all I could do was wish that time would suddenly decide to move at hyperspeed and this class and this day would soon be over.

This time it was Lenny who decided to stand up to Jillian. I could tell a lot of the students who thought the Conway Kid hadn't really done anything wrong weren't willing to stand up to Jillian for obvious this-was-the-battle-in-which-her-mother-died reasons. Lenny seemed to have no such reservations. Then again, from what I'd seen of Lenny since I'd met him and was now working with him in power development, there were few social cues he understood, and even fewer social rules he followed. "The showdown was happening between her school and her house. She said she was just walking home."

"And does everyone walk down Rodeo Drive on their way home from school?" Jillian asked. Honestly, the girl's snide, mean-girl tone was REALLY starting to annoy me.

"If it's the shortest way, yes. They used to teach this thing in regular math class – the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Rodeo Drive? Part of that line."

"Until she blew a crack in it that shifted half of Hollywood around."

"And how well can you control your power? Wait, bad example, since you have a pretty good grasp of your power," Alan said, jumping back into the debate, and seeming to remember the times that Jillian had chosen him as a target for her power demonstration. Aside from the first day when she'd shown me her powers, I could think of three other times that Alan had been her demonstration doll, and this was just off the top of my head. "But she had a whole heck of a lot more power than any of us have, or could understand having and trying to control. The Conway Kid was only fifteen. She was still learning. Like most of us here."

"With parents like hers? I bet they'd started training her while she was still in diapers."

Okay, that might have been slightly true, but it hadn't done me any good since they'd trained me for empathy only. Not that I could explain this to anyone. Please, please, please, just let this day end. "You know, a lot of these she-deserved-to-be-punished arguments rely on suppositions and assumptions about her home life. They're kind of lacking in evidence and proof," Lenny said.

"The proof you think these arguments lack is in the destruction she 'accidentally' caused," Jillian replied, making air quotes with her fingers.

Stupid airquotes. The girl _did_ have a point on that one.

Suddenly, Miss Watson was standing at the front of the class, calling for our attention and moving her hands in simmer-down-now motions.

"Alright, I believe we've reached an impasse. There may be a way, however, to break this standoff," Miss Watson announced.

My forehead was touching my desk. I figured it would be a little too conspicuous for me to put my head down completely, pull my sweater up over my head, and plug my ears. Folding my arms tightly across my chest, slouching in my seat, and letting my head fall forward was the best I could do.

"Jillian, will you please deliver these papers to Principal Powers' office for me?" Miss Watson asked.

"No."

My head snapped up. The stubbornness in Jillian's voice was so tight and so tangible it felt as if I could pluck it like a guitar string. She was gripping her desk, hard enough to almost leave her fingerprints ingrained into the wooden top. If there was going to be some kind of tug-of-war involved in getting her out of the classroom, my money was on her.

"Fine. Would anyone else like to take these papers to the office?" Miss Watson's voice was resigned, and there was an as-you-wish tone when she spoke.

This was getting kind of weird. All of my classmates were looking at Miss Watson, looking at each other, and trying to avoid actually meeting anyone else's eyes. The tension in the room, which had already been ridiculously high after the debate, seemed to be multiplying by the second. It was like a Mexican standoff, with everyone waiting to see who, if anyone, would break first.

"I would," Alan volunteered as he stood up.

Miss Watson nodded, and it was like she was offering understanding in that nod. The other students watched Alan leave without saying anything. If it was even possible, it was like they were ALL understanding Alan's desire to deliver papers.

What the heck was going on here?

Using a remote, Miss Watson turned the TV on. It was mounted to the wall in the corner, above her desk. The blue screen appeared and Miss Watson walked towards the back of the room, so she would be able to see it too.

I looked around at everyone, but their eyes were glued to the blue screen. They all seemed to know what was going to be shown, and it made me wonder if they'd all seen this tape last year. I admit, I was intrigued. What could possibly gain this much of their attention?

The tape started whirring when Miss Watson hit play. Colby Evans appeared on the screen – I recognized him from the 6 o'clock news show my Aunt watched. Evans was the news anchor for the SBC (Super Broadcast Company) channel.

There was a tiny screen showing news footage on the upper right side of the screen. But that wasn't what I focused on as Evans' voice was drowned out by the rushing noise in my head. All I could see, hear, and know rested on one little line of text at the bottom of the screen.

April 26, 2005.

Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Reliving that day during the debate apparently hadn't been enough. Now I got to watch it in blazing color. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Suddenly, my fingers were gripping my desk, and if it became a contest between me and Jillian, to see who could leave the deeper imprints, the odds were even.

The camera was swinging around the scene, obviously being shot from an aerial viewpoint. I remembered the fifty million helicopters that had been in the air on that day.

The scene suddenly zoomed in on two people. The woman was standing on top of the little roof that extends from some buildings front entrances for people who drive up and leave their car for valet parking. I recognized my mom, her hands raised as she picked a new target to blow to smithereens. Her hands tightened into fists, a sign that I'd learned early on; she'd picked her target. When her fists opened very quickly, a car fifty feet away exploded into flames, rising twenty feet in the air before crashing back down to the ground.

I saw Heartthrob standing in front of the building next to my mom's. I couldn't see his eyes from as far away as the camera was, but I knew from years and years of experience that his eyes were slightly narrowed as he looked around. He never squinted (I think he feared wrinkles and that it might affect his seduction tactics with women, which never made sense to me since he could manipulate their emotions; maybe he was just vain), but a muscle just blow his eye, near his nose, would tense up. It had always scared me as a kid, though for a few months one year when a bully had been stealing my lunch money, I'd practiced that look in the mirror, trying to appear as mean and menacing as my dad always did. I never succeeded and I went most of the year until Christmas without eating lunch. The bully mysteriously disappeared after some of the school authorities finally alerted my parents to my predicament.

Colby Evans voice finally began to register as the news show gave the full screen to the action going on in Hollywood and Evans became just a voice over as he watched with the rest of America. "It appears that The Commander is going to try and get close enough to take out one or both of them. If you are just joining us, when Jetstream and The Commander first appeared on the scene, they tried their regular initial action throw, only to have the Murdock building collapse on them as they flew in. It appears that no harm was done to The Commander as he makes his move."

Evans was silent as the camera angled slightly so as to include Dynamite, Heartthrob, and The Commander all on one screen. There was no news commentary as everyone watched The Commander do what had always worked for him, which was to just push on through all of the physical obstacles in his way.

I didn't need to watch what happened next, but I did; my eyes were glued to the screen as strongly as anyone else's in the class. Even though I'd been there to see all of this firsthand, seeing it from the helicopter's view was allowing me a sense of detachment. I could remember what I had seen that day, but to see it all on screen from an aerial angle made it seem less real, less like it had happened to me.

"NO! What is this?" Evans was almost screaming into his news microphone as his voice-over started up again. "The Commander is going down!"

Sure enough, The Commander was on his knees. His hands were covering his ears and his nose was almost touching pavement. There were absolutely no physical objects around him. He hadn't been hit by a car, or a meteor, and wasn't about to have a fifty story building drop onto him.

A keening sound filled my mind, but it wasn't coming from the TV or the taped broadcast. No, this was coming from my memory. I remembered watching The Commander going down. I remember the horrified hopeless feeling as I watched him collapse, I remember the sound of pain he made. It seemed to go on forever. It wasn't the sound of physical pain, but emotional anguish. A sound I'd heard all too often any time my parents conducted business meetings at the house.

Colby Evan's voice invaded my mind again. Clearly he'd never seen an evil empath at work before, using their powers to bring all the emotional pain within a hundred mile radius crashing down onto a single individual. He was as baffled as most people who'd watched it live that day had been. Of course, everyone watching it now in Miss Watson's class knew what was going on.

A few other Supers showed up on the scene and Colby Evans dutifully reported each appearance, and his voice got less hopeful each time a new one showed up, and there was less surprise each time one of them got anywhere near Dynamite and Heartthrob, only to be brought to their knees in mental pain.

Five minutes into the tape (Miss Watson had apparently skipped over the first hour of news footage, where everyone just tried to scramble out of Dynamite's and Heartthrob's way), _it_ happened.

The helicopters had started to go lower as the Supers all focused on each other and Dynamite had stopped blowing the news choppers out of the air. The scene went from encompassing the block surrounding the Big Showdown, to zooming in on Dynamite.

The first few times she rubbed her eyes it was like the wind had made them water for a moment, a brief second where she had to wipe her eyes and then get back to blowing up large properties in Hollywood. Then she started rubbing at her eyes, rather furiously, and the camera zoomed further and further in, until you could actually see rivulets of water running down Dynamite's face.

She quit rubbing her eyes for a moment and tried to blow up the car that a newly arrived Super was hiding behind. Instead, the grate surrounding the tree next to the car exploded. Dynamite hadn't bothered to blow up something that small and inconsequential since high school.

It was when she went back to trying to dry her eyes that everyone who was watching started to realize that something was wrong.

Colby Evans, genius reporter, sounded somewhat astonished when he began announcing this new turn of events. "It appears that something is wrong."

Yeah, way to go Einstein.

"Something seems to be wrong with Dynamite's vision!" The scene was zooming out, further and further as the people in the chopper tried to figure out what was going on.

Oh God, it was happening. The Big Showdown was nearing the…well, the big showdown. After so many failed attempts to stop Dynamite and Heartthrob, this was where it all changed. Not that anyone who'd been watching it at the time understood that. But all of us watching it now, 4 and a half months later, knew what was about to happen.

I wanted to hide my eyes. I wanted to leave the classroom. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to throw my desk through the TV, just to get it to stop showing the video. But I did nothing. I sat where I was, not wanting to watch what was about to happen, but unable to stop myself.

Evans and the news people had finally figured out what was going on. "It looks like Visine has entered the fight!"

I didn't look back at Jillian. It would have been too hard to see her at that moment, as the reporter announced her mother's appearance on the scene.

The camera zoomed in on a car, a little red Dodge Neon, down the street from the supervillains, where a masked woman sat in the passenger seat, alone in the car, concentrating on Dynamite.

Then, it was like angle of the news camera changed. Only I knew it hadn't changed for everyone else in the class. All of the other students were still seeing the scene from above. My memory had decided to impose itself on the aerial scene and I was watching it all over again from the point of view I'd had that day. Just down the street from my mom and dad. Walking home from school to find my way blocked by tumbled buildings, burning cars, and people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The police hadn't even bothered to road block anything since most people had run from the scene, as was the smart thing to do.

Me? I'd heard the word Dynamite and took off running towards the scene, dodging Supers who'd tried to get close to the evil duo only to find themselves brought to their knees by Heartthrob. I must have gone around ten Supers to get within a block of my parents. All of them were still down on the ground, just trying to live through the emotions Heartthrob continued to force on them. I'd been amazed at the number of Supers that Heartthrob was keeping under his control. Even I'd never suspected his power was that great, to continue this many manipulations going for this long, and still have power for more.

Unfortunately, though my brain was forcing me to watch the scene from my memory's point of view, I couldn't escape Colby Evan's reporting. "There's something coming down the street! It doesn't appear to be human."

I knew my breathing was getting faster, and I tried to slow it down, not wanting to bring myself to the class' attention, but control was proving to be out of my reach.

I watched as the animal got closer and closer to my parents. Heartthrob was focusing on the animal, but it wasn't doing any good, which meant that it was real, not a shapeshifter. A real tiger. His empathy was useless.

"It's a tiger! And it's getting closer and closer to Heartthrob. It looks like he might be trying to call on Dynamite for help," Evans reported, continuing the play-by-play.

I heard my dad yelling for help, yelling for Dynamite to get rid of the tiger. No one else in the class heard, though. The news footage was on mute as the only real sound would have been the helicopter's blades. Which was why we had Colby Evans reporting on the scene he was three thousand miles away from.

No, my parent's voices were only in my memories. I heard my mom's frustrated scream, watched her trying to blow up the objects around the tiger, watched her miss again and again as her vision continued to blur, destroying her aim.

Suddenly, the tiger started loping towards Heartthrob. His gaze started to dart around for an escape route. I don't think he realized until that moment, right at the end, the danger he was in. At least, I'd like to think that. I don't want to think about him panicking for endless minutes about his inevitable defeat and probable death. Yeah, he was evil, yeah, he and my mom were supervillains. But nobody deserved to suffer, thinking about their soon-to-be death.

I really do think that my parents thought they had every angle covered. My mom could handle all the mayhem and destruction, and she had my dad to watch her back. Any problems he had, he could call on my mom for help.

What they hadn't counted on was Visine, and her ability to render Dynamite temporarily blind.

Leaving Heartthrob open for attack.

"DAD!" My scream seemed endless as the tiger finally pounced. His paws went around Heartthrob's head. And even though there was no way for me to have heard it over my own screams, I heard Heartthrob's neck snap, my imagination filling in the sound for my brain.

Everyone else in the class got to hear Colby Evans annoying reporting. I would give anything to have heard it at that instant; instead, all I heard were my own screams, and that snap-crack sound that echoed within my brain.

Everything had seemed to be building up inside my brain back at that moment, and then it all seemed to explode out.

Suddenly, the snap-crack sound I'd been hearing was replaced by a low grumbling, followed by an explosion as the street I'd stood on that day split in two and a jagged crack ran down the street, about twenty, twenty-five feet.

The building next to me was suddenly missing it's top corner office as it exploded away from the building and crashed onto the street, narrowly missing two crouching Supers who were no longer under Heartthrob's influence, but still recovering from the memory of it.

The store on the other side of me seemed to implode in on itself as the top two stories crashed down into the first.

One of the police cruisers parked far down the street from the Big Showdown suddenly caught on fire. The two cops it belonged to had been hunkered down behind it, but were then forced to scramble backwards as quickly as possible.

The car beside me suddenly exploded into the air and went flying, flying, crossing the intersection. It came down, hitting a few cars, tumbling past or over them, and didn't stop until it hit a red Neon.

You know how you used to blow up a balloon as a kid, get it really really really big, and then let it go without tying it off? And you used to watch it fly crazily around the room for all of two, maybe three seconds before it sputtered to a stop and fell to the floor? Well, that was how long my destructive streak lasted, and I felt exactly like the balloon afterwards.

I was on my knees with the other Supers, although their pain was just ending and mine had just begun. I tried to struggle to my feet, tried to stand, tried to go to where Heartthrob had been deposited by the tiger, but I could barely manage to stand, forget walking.

My dad was still lying in the street, his head at an unnatural angle, his eyes looking up at the sky. I could see the tiger, a few blocks away now, standing next to a woman. With soft, gentle, red hair. It blew slightly in the breeze, as did her green, ankle-length skirt. Even from that distance, I could feel my eyes meet hers before she turned and walked away, down a side street and out of sight.

I heard my mom start to yell. Her eyes were clear now, and that was when the real destruction started.

Her first target was the red Neon. When it exploded into flames, I was glad the news camera couldn't pick up on the same screams that I heard from the occupant. Dynamite didn't give it another thought, quickly moving on to the buildings around us, which started exploding and crashing to the ground. Some of the Supers who were still recovering from Heartthrob's attack weren't quick enough to avoid being crushed to death.

I was rather surprised at the speed and randomness of her newest destructive warpath until I saw the recovered Supers start to move in on her. Without Heartthrob watching her back, it took less than half a minute to subdue her.

Maybe no one would have known I was there. Maybe everyone would have just assumed that it had been Dynamite's power that caused all the destruction in the three seconds following Heartthrob's death. Maybe I could have escaped all the blame and accusation.

If my mom hadn't started screaming at me to help her.

That was what started the questions and investigations and power development tests and court hearings and lawyers and policemen and judges and social workers and shrinks and doctors. But none of that was on the tape we were watching in class. No, that tape cut off right after Dynamite started screaming my name and the camera, which had been zoomed in on her, followed the direction she was pointing to, and zoomed in on me.

I considered it pure luck that the breeze that day kept blowing my shoulder-length hair into my face, obscuring my features. Which meant that no one recognized me here at Sky High with my hair pulled into it's now-customary messy bun.

I guess it's true: just like men only need glasses to disguise their secret identity, women need only pull their hair into a ponytail (or in my case, a messy bun) to keep their secret identity a secret. Which I was grateful for.

When the tape stopped, I was pulled from Big Showdown memories back into Sky High Sophomore Sidekick classroom reality.

No one was speaking. No one was moving. I'm not even sure if anyone was breathing. If a pin had dropped to the floor right then, people in the gym could have heard it.

Oh crap, had I given myself away somehow? I darted a glance around the room, but no, no one was looking at me. As far as I could tell, everyone was too busy _not_ looking at Jillian. My gaze fell on her for a half-second. There was blood running from her lip. It looked like she might have bitten it.

I understood that – I'd done the same thing while watching the tape (and reliving everything) to keep from screaming when my dad had died on screen. I imagined that biting her lip had kept her from screaming, watching her mom's car burst into flames.

However, any understanding of her emotions that I had, I was going to keep to myself. I had a feeling that she wouldn't be so welcoming of the my-dad-died, your-mom-died comparisons. Not when her mom had been partly responsible for my dad's death and I had been partly responsible for her mom's death.

It appeared that Miss Watson was the only one comfortable enough to speak at that moment. "On Friday, we'll move onto the Conway Kid's sentence. Come prepared to participate. And I mean everybody." She looked at me when she said that.

Hello, I never participated in Current Events debates. My one accidental contribution had been more of a private muttering that got pulled into the debate rather than an actual attempt at participation. And if Miss Watson thought I was going to participate now? Not bloody likely. The class could decide to tar and feather me for all I cared. Right now, I just wanted out of this room, and the emotions that were once again beating at my shields. The video had apparently stirred up strong emotions in my classmates – I'd been too caught up in my own to notice them before, but now that I was trying to calm myself, I could feel the emotional overload in the room that was a result of the news cast.

Why had Miss Watson even shown this stupid video? It didn't do anything to help clear up the debate we'd been having, and it only served to refresh everyone's memory of exactly how much had been destroyed that day. Property, people, families, lives. I suddenly understood why Alan had volunteered to bring the papers to the office. I only wished I had been the one to up and leave before the video had been shown. I wasn't sure which packet of emotions I wished to avoid more – the pain of watching my dad die when I strove so hard to be detached regarding my parents, or the guilt of knowing the destruction I had caused and helped my parents cause.

The bell rang. As usual, I was the first one out the door. Before I could run out to the bus stop though, I had to take a quick detour to the girls' bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face. Everything I'd ever seen in the movies said that this was the way to clear your head and make yourself feel all better after a traumatic experience.

For a girl who'd grown up in Hollywood, I believed far too many of its lies. Splashing my face with cold water didn't work, it only made me feel messy and sloppy.

I left the bathroom dreading the rest of the day. I still had to work, and I didn't feel like I was ever going to shake the melancholy angst that I felt covering me like a shroud after that horrendous current events class.

Even the idea of seeing Warren couldn't cheer me up. Even knowing that he'd walk me home after we left the Paper Lantern. Knowing that we'd walk together to the bus stop tomorrow morning like we had this morning (although, since neither of us were really morning people, we didn't really share many—or any—words before the bus arrived) couldn't bring me out of my bad mood.

And then, when I walked outside and the first thing that I saw was Layla skipping up to Warren, sitting next to him, and holding his hand? Yeah, those clouds hanging over me suddenly turned thunderstorm-worthy. My head knew that it was just an attempt to jealousify Stronghold, who was walking past, but my own jealousy wasn't listening much to my brain.

Yet, as I walked towards the seemingly-happy couple, I heard Layla say, "Hey there, Cutie. So, I was just thinking about you. I cannot wait until Homecoming. I'm so excited. I finally…"

I actually had to hold back a giggle. Who knew that all it took to lift some of my heavy emotions from Current Events was hearing someone call Warren Peace Cutie? Would have to remember that trick for future bad moods.

"Never call me Cutie," Warren ordered as he got up and walked away.

He ran into me on the steps, took one look at my knowing smile, and shook his head, a silent warning if I valued my life.

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Author's note: Thanks to reviewers Doughnut-87, Kara Adar, ladydaystar, brokenwriter, cheekybumbum, PadFootCc, Shinimegamipriestess, superckick09, HazelEyed Freak, Rayvin813, firetree, Readerfreak10, 2oopm, gorguzgurl, Indigo Bluu, ArtysThunder, Nival Vixen, MGT, Lizzie, BobbyD12, CMHValex, Megan, and SANDRA x fied! Reviews are AWESOME! Gives me warm fuzzies. People seem to be in favor of this new law, where boys are not allowed to talk, ever again. After three weeks of reality with a guy who's fan-freaking-tastic with that vague speak thing, I'm seriously considering it for a national law…though he goes to school in Canada, so this could become some kind of international treaty…

Good news! The next couple of chapters include fun, been-waiting-for things, like Josh and Homecoming! Although it could be another week before I update, since I'm going out of town again. Just once, I'd like my summer vacation to BE vacation, where I can sit at home and read and write and veg out… adds to wish list for next summer


	18. Can I Be Made Whole Again

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Eighteen – Can I Be Made Whole Again**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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There was no sign of Josh as Warren and I walked from the bus stop to the Paper Lantern. I knew from asking around and my keen powers of observation (the landing pad _was_ right next to the busses' landing strip) that Josh had a jetpack. Which meant that it would be pretty easy for him to beat us downtown. Why is it that the supervillains, and therefore their kids, get all the super cool toys? People who believed in karma must not be taking villains like Leech and Josh into account.

I fully expected Josh to be lurking in some alley on the walk to work, but nope, he didn't appear to be around. I was 90 relieved and 10 wary that I couldn't feel his presence anywhere around us. Or maybe it was the other way around, 90 wary and 10 relieved…yeah, that's definitely how I was feeling as we made it safe to "home base." I felt like a kid playing tag, going from safe spot to safe spot.

Warren looked at the death grip I had on the Paper Lantern's door frame. "You alright there?"

I flexed my fingers and held my hands up in front of me. "Fine. Finger cramps." Finger cramps? Finger cramps? That was the best my brain-mouth connection could come up with?

In return for my stellar, on-the-spot answer, I got the look that clearly stated he thought I was a nutjob. You know, sometimes, my brain-mouth connection worked great and I couldn't be more proud of it. And then, other times, it was just evil.

Work ended up being kind of crazy and hectic, beginning with a huge group of Maxville University students coming in for a study session and staying for two hours and ending with a group of senior citizens on an American Heritage bus tour.

I stuck around after my shift ended, supposedly to help with all the extra dishes. Usually, Lisa finished all the dishes that straggled in after the busy dinner shift ended and I left. I could tell she was thrilled that she didn't have to do it tonight (not that she'd ever show it, except perhaps by glaring at me just a smidgen less than usual).

Because of the craziness, it wasn't until we were walking back to our apartment buildings that Warren and I got a chance to talk alone. The streets were pretty much empty (despite the number of supervillains and giant robots that always seemed to be attacking Maxville, the non-super crime rate was ridiculously low), and I didn't feel any threatening presences outside my shields.

Warren must have been trying to repeat my Miss Congeniality flop when he asked, "Anything you want to tell me?"

Luckily, I only stumbled a little bit and caught myself before I ended up looking like an idiot, sprawled on the ground. Again.

As for his question? My immediate response would have been along the lines of "How did you know about Josh? Who told you? I'm not really a wuss!" But wait, I've seen this on TV, where a person just starts blurting out their deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets because they figure the person asking already knows everything. So I managed to catch myself before I let the Josh cat out of the bag – though it was a close call, getting my hand to cover my mouth before my brain-mouth connection spilled the beans.

Instead, I managed to calmly ask, "What do you mean?"

Warren gave me a look with his eyebrows, as though I was supposed to already know. I returned the eyebrow look and waited for him to elaborate before I went around confessing my fear of Josh.

Finally, with a sigh, he gave in first. "I heard a couple of sophomore sidekicks talking about the news video they watched in your current events class today. That what you wanted to talk to Paige about last night?"

Oh, this topic. I'd been fairly successful so far in returning the memory of that day to the back of my mind, where I liked to keep it when I wasn't being forced to relive it during Current Events. However, therapy had done a very good job of drilling a few key life rules into my head, most important of which was that repression today equals bad explosions tomorrow. Yeah, Confucius had nothing on my psychiatrist.

So, instead of evading the question, I answered, "Kind of. Didn't know there was going to be a video though. That kind of sucked. Mostly I just wanted to talk to her about the fact that my class was going to essentially put me on trial. Except, you know, not me, since no one else knows. But the Conway Kid."

"Trial? You didn't do anything," Warren stated, a questioning what-the-heck look on his face.

"Now see, this is where the video came in. And you clearly have never watched the news footage of that day."

"Sure, I have. They showed it in a school assembly last year, the day after everything happened."

"Oh joy. So everybody in school knows about the Conway Kid's crime spree."

"You have a weird view of what counts as a crime spree. Blowing up a couple of buildings and cars on accident? Hardly villainous mastermind material."

"But see, it's that whole idea of 'on accident' that comes into question."

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"No!" my vehement answer to that question, accompanies by the are-you-crazy look, caused Warren to roll his eyes.

"Obviously. So you know that. The police know that. Who cares what everyone else thinks."

The conversation was put on hold while I mulled that one over. In black and white like that, it sounded great. And I wished I didn't care. Maybe it would just take a bit more practice before I could achieve Warren's level of not care…hey, wait a sec.

"You're one to talk, Mr. I-tried-to-burn-down-the-cafeteria."

Warren shrugged. "It's a perfect theory, anyway. But forget those details, right now we're talking about your neurosis. You actually shouldn't have any problems with how people think of you – no one else even knows about your other identity, so it's kind of difficult for them to think _you_ did anything not on accident. It's not like you go around using Dynamite's power all the time…well, except for the first day of school. But everyone at Sky High just thinks you're an empath, albeit an unstable empath. And kind of a weak one."

"Gee, thanks."

"As long as you know you have power, who cares—"

"What everyone else thinks, I know," I jumped in, finishing his sentence. "Still, it'd be nice if I had a real power."

Warren gave me a funny look. "Uh, you have two."

"Actually, I don't even have one. Trust me to be the super kid who gets two halves and can't make a whole."

"I've seen you use your powers before."

"No, you've seen me _lose_ control of my powers before. Without the shields, I can intake emotions, but have no projection control. And instead of just projecting those emotions, my wonderful DNA combination has me projecting the explosion power. Really, I was the life of the party over the summer before I figured I'd better just stop trying and save on all the damaged property bills I wouldn't have to pay anymore. Which you probably know more about than me. How much have _you_ had to dish out?"

Warren had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Ehh…Oh, gee, here we are at the apartments already."

"That bad?"

Warren nodded. "That bad." He stopped walking and leaned casually against the railing for his apartment building's steps.

I knew what that casual pose meant. I knew what Casual Warren meant. Warren was going on full alert, ready to use my reaction to his stopping to help him connect the dots. Really, it must have been driving him crazy, not knowing why I had suddenly become his shadow whenever we weren't at school or at work.

Okay, and here was my first step in taking back my life and _not_ letting my fear of Josh control me.

I continued on to the next building and walked up the stairs, calm as you please. I was grinning when I reached the doors and turned to Warren, knowing he'd still be watching. Waving goodnight, I unlocked the outside door and went in.

No, he might not have walked me to my door again, but I'd known he would still be watching out for me. It was kind of a nice feeling.

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Author's note: Thanks for the patience and sorry this took so long (and that it was rather short). And thanks to reviewers Kara Adar, CMHValex, Rayvin813, Stellar Raven, Shinimegamipriestess, Readerfreak10, Lady Knight19, smokeydog, xDeleted, MGT, rootbeergirl19, tlm1633, cheekybumbum, lovestoread, Nival Vixen, becca, FallOutGirl13, equinelover101, A Bit, The Mayor's Daughter, Outsider Wolf, JanAlex, Phyremage! Yay for reviews!


	19. Played the Fool Today

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Nineteen – Played the Fool Today**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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I was still on Josh-lookout at school on Thursday, although not as diligent. I didn't jump every time I felt someone come up behind me in the halls. I actually used my locker instead of trying to carry twenty pounds of books everywhere I went.

When I didn't see Warren wandering the halls at lunchtime, I was left with a dilemma. Heading towards the cafeteria, I tried to sort it out before I entered the room and was forced to make an on-the-spot decision. Did I sit with Warren, or was he still too image-conscious to be seen with a real friend in public places? And if I didn't see him, I should probably sit with Tara, but then what if Warren came in late?

And I really needed to stop wasting this much energy, stressing over possibilities. Warren wasn't reading at his usual lunch table, so yay, no dilemma. Yay, right?

I passed Josh once that afternoon, but he simply doffed his fingers at me, as if he had some kind of hat on and was greeting me with a sign of respect. Riiiiiight. His serene smile gave me the heebie-jeebie chills and I hurried to my classroom.

Walking into P.E. that afternoon, I made an instant decision. Screw Warren's fear of publicly having friends and possibly ruining his scary-loner reputation, he was one of the only two people at Sky High that I counted as a real friend and I was going to sit with him. He could glare at me all he wanted, but my mind was made up and all of his what-makes-you-think-we're-friends-enough-to-be-acknowledging-each-other-in-public looks weren't going to make me back down.

I threw myself onto the bleacher next to him, kind of sinking in and leaning back and resting against the bleacher behind us. Luckily, thanks to Warren's do-not-enter three-foot radius, there was no one sitting behind or in front of us and I was able to luxuriously stretch out. I swear, bleachers were _designed_ to be insanely uncomfortable to sit on in order to encourage fans to stand on their feet while they cheered. The only way to achieve a comfortable seat on the bleachers was to essentially take up three rows – one to lean back against, one to sit on, and one to stretch your feet across.

Expecting Warren's black look, I turned to him, prepared to do battle and possibly even follow him, should he decided to up and move away from me (though that might cause me to die of embarrassment, which could interfere with my follow-Warren plan). But surprise me, Warren simply rolled his eyes in his weird way of surrendering to the inevitable that I _was_ going to sit with him, whether he liked it or not.

"Ready for another exciting day of Save the Citizen?" I asked, trying to start some semblance of a conversation.

Warren shrugged and leaned back against the bleacher behind us. "I probably won't get called on to play for another couple of months. I'm not on Boomer's bad side. Me, I'm good. You, you're screwed." He nodded matter-of-factly and tried (and failed) not to look at all smug about that fact as he stretched out his feet too.

I groaned inwardly. I was _really_ not up for a three minute dodge-of-death match.

"Aren't we feeling brave today," Tara observed as she plopped onto the bleacher on the other side of me. She mimicked Warren's and my position, stretching out.

Warren sat forward and peered around me, giving Tara a pointed look.

"Relax, matchstick, I'm just sitting with Nevaeh. Pretend I'm not here," Tara assured him.

Another pained surrendering-to-the-inevitable look passed over Warren's face as he settled back again.

I glanced back and forth between the pair, trying not to look like an observer at a tennis match. I failed miserably as I gaped at first Warren, then Tara. Okay, so not only was Tara suddenly sitting within flaming distance of the combustible, temper-prone pyrotechnic, but Warren was suffering through the fact that both Tara and I were sitting within his storm cloud radius. And surely if Tara was sitting here, that meant that within the next few minutes, Warren would actually be mingling with an entire social circle.

Or so I believed. But apparently, the wrath of Warren was far more overpowering than the need to sit with friends during P.E., as all of Tara's friends sat at the opposite end of the bleachers, though they were rather obvious about their continuous staring at the three of us.

Warren must have noticed their reluctance to sit near him. "Hey, gummi bear, I think your clique is about to vote you off the island. Best scurry back to the herd."

Now it was Tara's turn to lean forward and glare at Warren. "Thanks for the advice, but unlike you, I don't feel the need to follow this school's social code, so I'm fine right where I'm at."

Warren popped forward like the bleacher behind him had turned to ice, and before Tara even had a chance to lean back, was firing back at her, "I do NOT follow _any_ social code."

"Right. And that's why, even though you and Nevaeh have been friends for at least a week or two, you don't acknowledge her in public. You follow the rule book of high school society, which dictates that you, the son of a villain, shall be a loner for life, just as much as the rest of us who fall into our little cliques do."

Tara leaned against the bleacher with a smug, satisfied smirk on her face and Warren leaned back against the bleacher with a grumpy, unsatisfied scowl on his face. Neither spoke again through the whole period while we watched our classmates being slammed around the ring. Luckily, today was a new day and I wasn't destined to be one of Boomer's victims.

Even though no other words were spoken between our weird and awkward trio throughout the rest of the period, I could tell Warren had spent the entire time thinking about what Tara had said. It wasn't so much the look on his face that gave him away, or his body language as we climbed down the bleachers and Tara ran off to talk to her distance-keeping friends. No, none of that was what gave away his thoughts. Instead, I realized how much Tara's words had been weighing on him when he asked, "What's your next class? I'll walk with you."

"Uh, this was our last class."

"Right. I meant walk to the bus stop," Warren corrected, trying to stay imperturbable and not really succeeding.

I nodded and slipped into the locker room to change back into my normal clothes. Warren was waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall. Ready to walk me to the bus stop.

Awkward silence reigned for the first minute or two as we walked. It hadn't been this awkward between us since our fake date. I racked my brain, trying to think of some way to break the quiet.

Finally, I just blurted out, "Okay, what bugs you the most, what Tara said about you and me hanging out, or the idea that you succumb to some sort of social code just like most other teenagers in America?"

Warren glared at me. So maybe honesty wasn't the best way to go, but hey, silence broken. "If I say it was the social code thing, then this change here, walking together, is admitting to having followed it before. And if I say it's the comment about being…friends," he continued, almost choking on a word as unused in his vocabulary as friend, "Then I'm admitting to having ignored you before."

"Uh, Warren, you _did_ ignore me before. But you also ate lunch with me yesterday. Albeit, _outside_, but still, together. And we hang out at work. I wouldn't worry so much about the secret friends thing."

Warren looked more than a little relieved to have that guilt burden taken away. "Right. True."

"And the loner comment isn't all that true anymore either. I heard you ate lunch with more of Will Stronghold's friends yesterday."

Warren made an immediate face. "I did NOT eat lunch with them. They invaded my table and I left. Quickly."

"Code of the Loner?" I asked, trying to figure out what had scared him off so quickly.

"Friends of Will Stronghold."

"I don't see why you're so hung up on hating him. You _have_ already agreed to play cupid for him," I pointed out, grinning evilly.

We boarded the bus, hung onto our stomachs for twenty minutes and continued the conversation on the way to work. Warren still looked disturbed by Tara's comments.

"You really shouldn't be that bothered," I tried to convince him. "I think we've already established that your hang-ups aren't as bad as she made them out to be. And you're probably already gotten your revenge on her for making you dwell on them this long."

Giving me a wary look, Warren asked, "What do you mean?"

"I think you probably cursed Tara back there. Ten bucks says when she graduates from here, her super name is going to end up being Gummi Bear."

Warren's grin was 95 evil. "Nice," he said, nodding. "As long as mine isn't Matchstick." He snapped his fingers, leaving his index finger on fire and pointing towards the sky. "I think I'd much prefer a name like Torch."

I gave him a conciliatory pat on the back as we entered the Paper Lantern. "Yeah, you just keep hoping for that one, flame boy." I tried not to let my fingers linger on his back. Really, I did. But there was just something…there really should be a law against hot guys and leather jackets. Lethal combination, that one.

I thought work would be uneventful. I expected it to be, I expected a normal, slow Thursday evening. Various people, couples, and groups came into eat. Some students from Sky High showed up. Some students from the Hero class left early, gossiping eagerly about a raging Hero party over at Will Stronghold's.

I teased Warren about his joining the rest of the Heroes at Will's, now that he was trying so hard _not_ to follow a loner social code. He scowled and continued bussing tables.

So, in general, just your average Thursday evening. Which is why, when I peeked out into the main room a little after nine, I almost dropped dead in shock to see Warren sitting at a table.

With Will Stronghold.

I would actually have been less surprised to see them engaged in a snowball fight in hell, than to see them conversing all civil-like at a table in the Paper Lantern. The table wasn't on fire, nor was it smashed to smithereens, which indicated both of their powers were in check and they weren't in fighting mode.

Maybe there was something in the fried rice tonight, and I was actually delusional.

But no, it appeared other people could see them too – Mama Wu was glaring at Warren, but she wasn't demanding that he get back to work. Maybe it was because she knew Warren and Will were really mortal enemies, and yet had put that on hold for tonight. Or maybe it was because she was just amazed into silence, seeing him having friendly conversations twice in one week with people his own age.

It couldn't have been the lack of people still in the restaurant. There were still quite a few busy tables, including…oh gross! One of those occupied tables contained Coach Boomer, glaring at Medulla, who had two hot blondes hanging all over him.

Yeah, first Will and Warren sitting together and now seeing my teachers on a date. I just might be scarred for life.

My original intent had been to find Warren and let him know I was heading home. I hadn't had any Josh worries today, and I kind of wanted to wean myself off the Warren-training-wheels of safety. Now, seeing him talking to Will cemented that plan. If he was actually managing to hold a civil, involved conversation with Will Stronghold (which looked to be true), then I had absolutely no intention of interrupting him so he could argue with me about the brilliance of my plan.

And granted, walking home alone wasn't the best idea I'd ever had, but at some point, I _had_ to stop acting as if Josh might jump out from behind every bush. I couldn't live like this, and eventually, I would have to work up enough courage to face the rest of the world without a semi-bodyguard.

No time like the present, right?

"Hey Mama Wu, will you let Warren know I left?" I requested as I took off my latex gloves and threw them away. Lisa, overhearing and realizing she would have to finish the last dishes on her own, glared at me as she walked back out to the dining room.

"Not waiting for your boyfriend tonight?" Mama Wu asked knowingly as she nodded her acquiescence.

I almost choked on my own tongue. "My what? He's not my…we're just friends."

Mama Wu just smiled that smug all-knowing smile. "Right."

"No, really, we're just friends." I don't know why I was trying so hard to convince her. I mean, just the idea of it being true made butterflies go psychotic in my stomach. But I really really _really_ didn't want her mentioning anything about boyfriends and girlfriends to Warren. That might just spook him back into not hanging out with me.

"Yes, I can see that. Just friends. The kind of friend you wait an hour and half for after you get off work." She continued nodding, and smiling.

I weighed the wisdom of arguing with her, decided it wasn't worth it, not when she was so convinced that she was right, and just prayed she wouldn't tell Warren something about his girlfriend leaving early when she relayed my message to him.

Mama Wu's words weighed on me all the way home. Part of what kept me dwelling on her words was wistfulness. Part of it was disappointment that her words weren't actually true. And part of it was hope that one day, they might be true.

All in all, I fully blame my preoccupation as the reason I didn't hear, feel, or sense Josh until it was too late.

I literally bumped into him as I walked, looking down at the sidewalk. Right outside my own apartment building, twenty feet from safety, after a full two days of being ignored by him, and _I_ bumped into _him_.

My hands came up on their own, an instant reaction to steady myself. An automatic apology was at the tip of my tongue before I realized who I'd run into.

Although my hand rested on his bare forearm for less than two seconds, it was enough. I realized that instantly. He had my powers.

And I panicked. Which is about the worst thing you can do around an inexperienced empath. He hadn't even known what my powers were, so there was no way he was prepared to control them, or the influx of panic that invaded, supplied, and heightened his newfound empath/destruction power.

The tree outside my apartment building lifted out of the ground, roots and all. Well, exploded from the ground is a more apt description. Before it exploded into toothpick-sized pieces and rained down around us.

I'm not sure who was more surprised – him or me. Him for the obvious reasons. Me because my mother had been unable to explode organic, living material. And Josh, blowing up the tree, meant that I possibly could. Or it might have been caused by my power mixing with some leftover power-residue within Josh.

A park bench between my building and Warren's exploded. Another tree fell sideways, crashing through the gate surrounding it.

And then there was silence. I was glad I hadn't touched him for longer than a second or two, or it might have continued. As it was, I could that the small amount of power he'd gotten from me in that time had just expired.

Watching Josh's expression changing over the next three seconds was like watching puzzle pieces fall into place. Finally, after what seemed like three lifetimes, he breathed, "Jenny Conway."

Oh God. I ran around him and darted inside.

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Author's note: Thanks to everyone who continues to read this story. I know it takes a lot of patience and interest to continue reading a story that gets updated only once a month (or less, eep!). I apologize in advance since I expect the update to take about the same amount of time as this one (which makes me sad, that I have so little free time in my life now that school's back). Thanks to reviewers Stellar Raven, papersoul, equinelover101, Kara Adar, A Bit, Best Laid Plans, superckick09, lovestoread, Lt. Commander Richie, PadFootCc, blueglass25, turner09, CMHValex, Adriana, Readerfreak10, Angelnanoo, Phyremage, The Fire in Your Eyes, and Sheiado.


	20. Uh Oh, I Think I Messed Up Again

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty – Uh Oh, I Think I Messed Up Again**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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I packed my bags Thursday night. And waited. I twitched at every noise I heard outside, thinking it was the villagers come to run me out of town, in the style of _Beauty and the Beast_. I was sure every noise was a mob standing outside my window.

I couldn't fall asleep. God! I was such an idiot. Aw, gee, evil Josh, you obviously haven't been doing enough to figure out my secret, so let me help you out by GRABBING YOUR ARMS!

When I finally fell asleep at 4 am, my duffel bag was my pillow. I twitched awake at 7:15, waking from a nightmare where Jillian, Will, and Layla had trapped me at the edge of Sky High and Layla used the blades of grass to push me off the school.

Yeah, this was shaping up to be a great day. I had no idea what Josh had done after leaving my apartment, I feared everyone at my school save the one person who had already known my secret, I had to go to school today if only to find out if there were any whispers as to the reappearance of the Conway Kid, and even if Josh had kept quiet and by some miracle my life was to continue as normal, that meant I still didn't have a date or a dress for Homecoming.

I got ready for the morning with the SBC on the TV as background noise and to warn me of any breaking news.

When nothing on the news raised red flags for me, I reluctantly left my apartment, headed for the busstop, and spent the whole way trying to figure out what was going on, and what Josh had done.

Had he kept quiet? Could I actually trust Josh with my secret? I immediately dismissed that idea with a pfft and an eye roll. But if he actually had kept my secret, what did that mean?

Before I could work out the answer to that question, a hand grabbed my shoulder, scaring a scream out of me. I feinted to the side, whirled around, ready to sweep Josh's legs out from under him.

Apparently, I had a lot of fear and anger to work through. Warren stood behind me, eyes wide, hands raised. Oops.

When he saw that I had relaxed my instinctive response, he put his hands down and asked, "What happened last night? I thought you were going to wait for me?"

I tried to take deep breaths and appear like nothing was wrong. Which was so easy since it wasn't like I had just tried to attack Warren. Nope, not a thing was wrong.

I was never gonna make it through this day.

"Oh, well," I said, trying to be casual. "It looked like you and Will were finally sitting down and having a heart to heart."

Warren glared fiery daggers at me. "Funny. No, he was trying to reassure me that he wouldn't be interfering with mine and Layla's epic romance."

"Epic romance?" Oh hell, hey look, suddenly I was trying to gulp around the baseball in my throat.

The look Warren slanted me said that clearly, I was on crack. "So then I had to spend time explaining the jealousy angle. And telling him how much of an idiot he was."

I nodded, reassured that my world had tilted back to its normal position. "Okay, now _that_ I believe."

Warren looked up at the sky. Odd, since I could see the bus coming down the street. "So, you have any trouble getting home?" He continued to avoid my eyes.

"It's like a fifteen minute walk. What could happen?" I asked, shrugging, and trying to laugh off the question, without actually lying to Warren.

"You tell me," Warren said, looking me in the eye.

But hey, at times, a lie might be all you had left. "No, I got home fine." Suddenly, it was my turn to be fascinated by the sky.

"You're sure?" Warren asked, getting on the bus.

Growing overly defensive was a sure sign of a lie, I reminded myself. So I tried to smile reassuringly and keep my voice as even as possible as I said, "Yes, I'm sure."

Arriving at school put me back into near-panic mode. God, what if people had found out? Warren continued to walk beside me. Clearly, I hadn't reassured him with my Oscar-worthy performance.

As we walked into Sky High, I glanced around for any signs of Josh. He was just landing his jet-pack at the landing pad. His eyes immediately zeroed in on me and gave me another of his creepy, cheerful, evil waves. I darted inside so quickly I stepped on Warren's heels, eliciting a glare.

"Heh, sorry," I said, trying to cover my nervousness by adjusting my messenger bag strap.

Warren was still watching me suspiciously. He stopped me as I was about to head to my sophomore sidekick class. "You're acting weird. Well, weirder than usual," he amended.

"Hey, I'm not normally weird," I protested.

"You've been waiting an hour and a half past what time you usually get off every night, working without pay just to walk home with me the past few nights. That's weird."

"Maybe I'm stalking you, ever thought of that?" I replied. Nothing like making a guy uncomfortable to throw him off the track, right?

"Then you're a really sad stalker. You need to work on your stealth mode," Warren said, smiling and rejecting the idea that I was spending all that extra time at work just to be near him.

Hey, that was a rather quick dismissal of my possible devotion. Was it really that unlikely that I would have a crush on him? Well, I mean, obviously not unlikely, since I DID have a crush on him, but did _he_ think it was a ridiculous idea? This was getting confusing and it wasn't even really happening! How did I always manage to do this, confuse the crap out of myself with hypotheticals, what ifs, and maybes. Right, focus back on our conversation. "Maybe I _do_ need to work on my stealth mode," I replied. Well, if that wasn't just the worst comeback EVER.

We both kind of looked at each other and grinned.

"Okay, here's the thing," Warren said. "I know something is up with you. And if you're not ready to tell me, alright, I'll accept that. But just be honest with me."

I shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure it's you I'm trying to lie to. Like if I admit out loud that I'm an idiot, it's going to be even worse."

"What will be worse?" Warren asked. I gave him a look and he put his hands up in an I'm-innocent gesture. "Right, I agreed to let up. But only on the condition that you _will_ tell me when you're ready."

I nodded. "When I'm ready to admit to myself that I'm being an idiot, and ready to confess to you just how much of an idiot I am, I will."

He nodded acceptingly as we went down our separate hallways. I smiled as I started walking toward my locker.

And then my smile disappeared as an arm came around my shoulder. Perhaps if I thought it was Warren my smile would have approached the level of so-ecstatic-my-smile-feels-like-I'm-Tour-Guide-Barbie-on-Toy-Story. But no, I knew who this was. His bare hand was resting on my shoulder, dangerously close to my face.

"Touch me and die," I growled, not shrugging off Josh's arm out of fear it might fall towards my neck rather than off my shoulder.

"Now why would I do that? I wouldn't want to blow the school out of the sky or anything." The way he said that, it was clear he was insinuating something.

"Are you trying to say that _I_ want to blow up the school?" I asked, trying to control my instant shock and outrage.

"Of course not," he said, putting an innocent hand on his chest. "However, I can see how _other_ people might think that, should they find out exactly who has transferred to Sky High. It might just be a natural suspicion, you know?"

"Josh, what do you want?" I asked, grabbing his wrist, covered by his shirt, and lifting it off my shoulder. I turned to glare at him, keeping hold of his wrist.

He looked down at his arm. And then the jerk started singing the Beatles! "I want to hold your hand. Oh please, say to me, you'll let me your man. And please, say to me, you'll let me hold your hand!"

Josh had managed to attract the attention of half the school. Everyone in the hallway was staring at us after his Karaoke-Beatles moment. I dropped his wrist in disgust and stepped back to the opposite side of the hallway, trying to put some safe distance between us.

Following me, he got as close as humanly possible without actually touching me, planting his hands on the wall on either side of my face. From anyone else's perspective, it probably looked sexy, like something out of a teen soap. However, from my perspective, it was annoying and slightly scary, and SO far from sexy. I leaned my head back so I could look at him. _Don't cower in fear, don't cower in fear,_ I told myself.

"So I'll pick you up at 7 for Homecoming? I wouldn't want you to mess up your hair or your dress, so we'll take my dad's aircar. You remember my dad, right?" Instant memories of that basement and being chained to the freaking wall floated to the surface of my memory. He smiled as if he could read my mind.

Ugh, he made me so mad I wanted to scream. But at least I was starting to figure out what made Josh tick. In no way was he attracted to me in any conventional sense of the word. No, he was attracted to the power he had over me. Creep. Although, there were some benefits to figuring this out. To figuring him out. He enjoyed the power he had over me. He was practically holding my life in his hands, and he knew it. If he _did_ tell anyone what he knew, he would lose that power. What I would or even could do with this newfound realization, I had no idea. But it was definitely food for thought.

Rather than acknowledge his invite/blackmail, I put my hands on his stomach and shoved hard. Before he could react, I darted away, forgoing my locker in favor of making it to my classroom unscathed. Well, any more than I already was.

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Author's note: YAY! I'm on Christmas break. Which means I have two weeks to laze around my house, and catch up on my reading, viewing, and WRITING!! Whoo hoo! Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 19 (eep, posted OVER two months ago, I'm horrible!): Nival Vixen, Sheiado, Superckick09, Kara Adar, Angelnanoo, turner09, Readerfreak10, Lt. Commander Richie, Inki-Angel, A Bit, The Fire in Your Eyes, papersoul, Best Laid Plans, lovestoread, cheekybumbum, iLUVfire, Blueglass25, equinelover101, Rayvin813, cateyes-120, pinga, June Birdie, Pinkninja83, Anxiously awaiting an update, Phyremage, CMHValex, and Little Raven-Hawk.


	21. This Sad Exchange

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-one – This Sad Exchange Pleased Neither One of Us**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

Author's note: I've never been to a Homecoming (they're kinda rare in Alaska), so I have no idea if they normally occur on a Friday or a Saturday, but for my story and from the timeline I've worked out from the movie Sky High, I figure it's on a Friday :) And hey, look, it's my longest chapter yet! I had all the major plot points for the chapter outlined, but the characters just kept filling in with their own conversations and tiny details.

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Apparently, I wasn't the only one having a miserable Day of Homecoming. Will had turned into a social pariah overnight. The Heroes couldn't stop talking about him busting up their party (conveniently leaving out the fact that it was _his_ house), and the Sidekicks couldn't stop talking about Will having a Heroes-only party.

The few times I ventured into the hallway between classes, I constantly overheard these types of conversations. However, for most of the morning, I tried to stay in my classroom. I figured it was safe territory. I did have to venture out once to get a book from my locker and once to get a drink of water after Jillian looked at me and I grew so nervous, I almost swallowed my tongue. Both times proved safe enough. Maybe as long as I stayed in the sophomore sidekick area, I would be safe. Then again, it was this kind of maybe-I'm-safe thinking that had gotten me into this current mess.

For the twenty minutes before lunch, I debated my next move. I _could_ go with the rest of the class to lunch. Venture out among the crowds, hoping for safety in numbers. Or, I could wait a few minutes, hope Josh would think he'd missed me in the crowd, and then make a safe journey to lunch. Or he might already be done terrorizing me and I could go to lunch and go about the rest of my day without being bothered by Josh.

Well, option one hadn't worked out so great for me this morning, I remembered, my cheeks turning red just from the memory of that embarrassing Beatles moment. Ugh, what if Josh had forever turned me off the Beatles?! Okay, no, not possible, not allowed. However, I might never be able to listen to that song again without becoming terrified. Kind of like those rats scientists did experiments on to see what kind of sense-memories brought on specific responses. Wait, had I just let Josh turn me into a lab rat?

Okay, so time to think about option two. Option three seemed so unlikely that it didn't warrant further consideration. But waiting in the classroom, while possibly not my best idea ever, seemed like a new and viable option. I'd tried option three last night and option one this morning, and neither of those had worked out so well for me. Soooo, option two it was.

As everyone left for lunch, I kept my eye on the clock. Miss Watson gave me an odd look as she left, but I just pretended to be gathering up my stuff realllly slowly. 1 minute and 39 seconds had passed when the door started to open. Oh, shitake mushrooms, maybe option two wasn't the way to go.

"Tyler?"

I almost collapsed in relief when I recognized Warren's voice and saw him pop his head in. Seriously, I could feel myself melting into a big puddle of a heart-stopped-no-longer-scared mess.

Warren grinned when he spotted me, making me wonder if I really had melted down like I heard some freshman friend of Stronghold's could.

"You going to lunch, or are you eating in here?" he asked.

I grabbed my messenger bag (which I had finished packing all my stuff into as soon as Miss Watson had left, just in case I had to make a quick exit), and hopped up, trying to ignore the rubber feeling in my legs. Warren tried to hide his grin when he saw how much trouble I had taking the first few steps.

"Don't even start," I grumbled as I pushed past him, into the empty hallway.

"No worries. I'm just waiting for it to get bad enough for you to tell me what's going on," he said, shrugging. I glared at him.

We'd turned down the hallway to the cafeteria when I figured now was probably the best time to take care of an earlier need. I stopped Warren outside of the girls' room. "Can you hold my bag for me for a second?" I asked, taking the bag's strap from around my head and placing it over his shoulder.

"Uh, yeah," he said, looking a little uncomfortable at the idea of waiting outside the little super heroine's room. I rolled my eyes and left him in the hallway looking around desperately for some kind of escape route.

I finished quickly, afraid Warren might freak if left out there waiting for too long. For Warren, waiting anywhere meant waiting for someone, which meant he might actually have a friend. Didn't want him to panic and bug out during our first week of public friendship. I was washing my hands when I heard the voices outside of the bathroom. It was too muffled to make out any words, but I recognized Warren's eye-rolling tone and Layla's pleading voice. I wondered if he'd told her about his run-in with Will.

I had turned from the entrance to dry my hands when I heard the door open. Figuring it was Layla and wanting to avoid any conversations with the overfriendly girl who happened to be Warren's date for Homecoming and the daughter of the woman who'd killed my father, I spent a few extra seconds drying my hands, hoping she'd go into a stall and I could avoid her entirely.

I still hadn't heard Layla enter a stall, but if I continued to dry my hands, I'd be rubbing off my skin pretty soon, so I threw the paper towel away and turned around.

No one was in the bathroom with me and all the stall doors were open.

Now, maybe someone had been about to come in, but changed her mind. Maybe someone had hit the door accidentally (with Warren in the hallway, it was entirely possible someone had been thrown against the door). Maybe some poor freshman boy had pushed the door open, realized it was the girls' room and run away quickly in embarrassment. Maybe. But my instincts were screaming DANGER and at this point in my life, I was inclined to trust them.

I backed into a stall and quickly locked the door. After which, of course, I remembered Warren was in the hallway and I should probably have headed towards him. Oh God, I was one of those stupid girls in the horror movies who ran up the stairs instead of out the front door! That, or I was a paranoid freak who'd just locked herself in a bathroom stall for nothing.

But something didn't feel right. Something in the bathroom. Like I couldn't trust my senses; I couldn't see or hear anyone else, but I just KNEW I wasn't alone in there. And at a school like Sky High, maybe it was for the best that I not trust my five basic senses and instead rely on my sixth sense, paranoia.

I stared at the stall door, wondering if I should make a run for it. I went to unlock the door, but my hand hit something before it ever reached the lock. Ohhhhh, shitake mushrooms.

The air in front of me fuzzed and waved as Josh appeared in front of me. He smiled as he looked down at his arms. "One of the sophomore heroes has invisibility as a power. I think I rather like that one."

"But…but…but I locked the door!" I finally managed to sputter out.

His grin was 95 percent evil, 5 percent smug. "I know. Also borrowed some freshman's phasing power. Could have used it to get through the bathroom door without opening it, but I rather enjoyed the look on your face as you realized something was wrong."

"You sick freak." Not the best insult (heck, not even an insult, more like a statement of fact), but the best I could come up with when I was 70 percent shocked and 30 percent scared. Or maybe it was the other way around. Whatever.

"Aw, now, no name calling, _Jenny_," he admonished, stressing my real name.

I glared at him. It didn't do a lot, you know, but it made me feel marginally better. "My name is Nevaeh Tyler," I growled, trying to be intimidating, instead of looking like I was cowering in a bathroom stall.

"Come now, baby, we both know the truth," he said, smiling as he saw how much being called "baby" angered me. "Anyway, I didn't come in here to argue with you."

"Sneak," I corrected. "You _snuck_ in here after you saw Warren in the hallway." I tried to control my growing anger when I saw how much he enjoyed getting a rise out of me.

"Well, after I saw Warren heading towards your classroom instead of the cafeteria," he admitted. Then he smiled. "But that's all irrelevant. What I really wanted to talk to you about was the color of your dress so I can get you a matching corsage."

A corsage? A FLIPPING corsage?! He couldn't go four hours without finding some way to harass me! Screw controlling my anger. I lashed out with a reverse punch, using my right fist, which had been angled away from him; since I was 12, falling into a loose fighting stance had been automatic for me when confronted by an adversary. I put all my anger, fear, and paranoia from the past 18 hours into that punch. I remembered this one time in karate class when one of the students had lowered the punching bag too early and the other student had hit him, full force, in the diaphragm. The boy had gone down, struggling to breathe for a minute or two. I aimed for Josh's diaphragm now.

And slammed my fist into the stall door behind him as he let my hand phase through him.

Oh shit…take mushrooms!!! Mushrooms! Mushrooms, mushrooms, mushrooms!!

Pain, pain was radiating up from my fist, through my arm, causing my vision to go a little black around the edges and I wavered a little where I was standing. Luckily, my parents had drilled dignity in the face of pain into me since I was five. I could handle this, I could handle this, I could...

It was a struggle not to allow myself to be the one writhing in pain on the floor. Instead I cradled my arm against my chest and dared Josh with my eyes to say even a single word.

He gave me a look, as if he'd been about to say something but was now thinking better of that idea. Unlocking the stall door, he swept it open and gestured with his arm for me to go first. I tried to squeeze past him without allowing any part of our bodies to touch, and when that proved impossible, I tried to ram my shoulder into his chest as I passed him. Again, he just allowed his body to phase the blow, and I was struggling for my balance after hitting nothing but air.

I turned towards him as I headed for the door. "Stay away from me, Josh. I mean it. Stay away." Perhaps my threatening words would have been more effective if I wasn't cradling my hand, but I wanted to get the warning out there.

"So…no news on the color of the dress? You _do_ have one already, right?" he asked.

I could hear the hidden laughter in his voice and flipped him off with my good hand as I exited the bathroom.

Warren had an especially pained look on his face when I came out of the bathroom, but Layla was nowhere around and he couldn't transfer my bag back to me fast enough. "Next time, I'm not waiting outside the bathroom. It's just too…weird," he said quickly. He noticed the way I was holding my injured hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I whacked it against the paper towel dispenser," I improvised (yay for the brain-mouth connection!) as I hurried us away to the cafeteria. I had no idea how long Josh's new invisibility powers would last, and I didn't want Warren to see Josh coming out of the bathroom.

Really, I was going to tell Warren everything. Soon. I would have a big, tell-all confession soon, and get this all off my chest. I would stop sneaking around soon and stop looking like a secretive freak, soon. But not now. Now, all I wanted to do was make it to the cafeteria, eat lunch, and pretend it was a normal day. And not a day where I was running from Josh as well as trying to figure out what I was going to wear to Homecoming tonight.

Crap. I really didn't have a dress yet. Well, I guess it was a good thing I had gotten off work today, having promised to double shift on Sunday. Maybe Tara could help me out in the dress department. I'd have to talk to her after lunch. Because there was no way I was going to pass up this prime opportunity to sit with Warren, not when we were walking to lunch together and everything. And yeah, it might have been out of a feeling of bodyguardism on his part, but hey, I was desperate, and would take what I could get.

Warren sat down at his customary table and I sat across from him. We were just pulling out our brown-bag lunches when Tara bounced over to us, perfectly balancing her tray of food while using her power. She plopped down next to me.

"So this school's gone crazy overnight. I don't think anyone can talk about anything else besides Will's party and Homecoming tonight," Tara said in lieu of an actual greeting.

Warren and I just kind of stared at her. This was twice in as many days that Tara had ditched her posse of conformist friends to sit with us. I grabbed her bottle of orange juice and sniffed it for vodka. Nope, it was clean.

She grinned as she swiped the bottle back. "No worries, I'm not imbibing during school hours," she assured me.

"And yet, you're still here," Warren observed in his eye-rolling tone, managing to convey the eye-roll without the actual act.

Tara shrugged and tried to explain her reasoning to us. "At the moment, you two are the most interesting bit of news this school has seen since, well, the cafeteria fight. I mean, loner Warren, voluntarily being seen with someone around school AND sitting down to lunch with them. And actually eating lunch – no one here has seen you eat lunch since like, the first day of our freshman year," Tara said, talking to Warren. He took a bite of his carrot stick. Tara grinned. "Here's the way I see it. I could sit with the same people I sit with everyday, the same people, I might add, that I've sat with since the first day of our freshman year, and yes, that was the last day we ever saw Warren Peace eat lunch until today, and these are the same people that were too scared to join me yesterday during Save the Citizen when I sat with you two, or, I could sit with the people who are causing all the new gossip flying around the cafeteria at the moment. So, who to sit with? Cowards or interesting people?" Tara pretended to weigh the options in her hands as she finished her long-winded explanation.

Warren looked a little dazed and I wondered if that was the most anyone had ever talked within his do-not-enter three-foot radius.

"Right, so moving on," I said, hoping to talk over Warren's glazed over look. Because this really wasn't a conversation I'd planned to have while sitting at lunch with him, but I didn't know if I would see Tara again before the end of the day. "Do you have a dress I can borrow for Homecoming?"

Tara grinned, and I grew a little fearful of her dress selection.

"I mean, something simple," I clarified.

Some of the gleefulness went out of her with that announcement, but she still nodded. "Yeah, my mom sometimes buys me dresses that she, in her outerspace alien mind, thinks I might actually wear some day. Me, wear a solid print, normal dress? Don't think so. But apparently she does, so she just keeps buying them for me. Ooh," she said, suddenly growing excited, "Come over after school and we can have a Clueless-like moment, picking out dresses for tonight."

I felt relieved. Tara and I hadn't really solidified the decision on whether or not we were going to Homecoming. So at least I was just going to be an uncomfortable loser, rather than a loner, uncomfortable loser. Since Warren had his big date and all already planned for the night. And I didn't want to be a total Josh-target, standing alone like a sheep at the slaughter (also known as the Homecoming Dance). "Sounds good, although I'll have to head back to my Aunt Paige's afterward. I think she's all excited to like, get pictures of me on my way out the door to Homecoming."

"Parents will do that," Tara said, shrugging.

It was a new experience for me. I looked at Warren and it suddenly occurred to me that he had probably never been to a school dance either. "Warren, is your mom all ready and lying in wait with a camera?"

Although he looked, well, the words supremely uncomfortable came to mind, with all this dance talk, he managed to look a little smug. "She's got the late shift at the hospital tonight."

I wrinkled my nose at him. Lucky duck. I was going to have to suffer through pictures before I made my way to the…well, wait, what was I going to be making my way to?

"How do we even get here for Homecoming? I mean, it's not like we can just rent a limo and drive over," I said, airing my newest concern. Dress, taken care of. Corsage, hopefully never. Ride? Definitely not Josh's dad's aircar!

Tara shrugged. "Usually, some of the seniors rent an airlimo, so they can appear in style. Some kids get their parents' aircar tonight. But for the rest of us sad students, we have to take the bus."

"The bus?" I asked, incredulous. Showing up to Homecoming on a bus. Not exactly the stuff teen dreams were made of.

"Well, jet packs kind of ruin the formal look. It's not like we go to a normal school. There are awesome perks to going to a school like Sky High. This just isn't one of them," Tara stated rather matter-of-factly.

"True," I said ruefully. "And the bus schedule?"

"It'll be at our regular stop at 7:10," Warren told me. At my raised eyebrow look, he explained, "I looked it up when I realized I'd somehow been roped into going."

"Wait, you're going with someone?" Tara asked him.

He kind of glowered at her and mumbled something.

She cupped her ear in a speak-up-and-speak-clearly gesture. Seriously, the girl must have enjoyed risking her life by provoking the easily annoyed pyrotechnic.

"I apparently asked Layla Green," Warren said.

"You're going with Will Stronghold's best friend?" Tara almost fell out of her seat. "Oh, this night just keeps getting better and better!"

Warren turned towards me, which was an impressive action considering that I was sitting across from him and it took a bit of effort to twist his shoulder in an obvious ignoring-Tara gesture. "In an effort to not miss the bus, I'll meet you outside your building at 6:50?"

I nodded in agreement, thinking about Josh's threat to pick me up at 7, and tried to hide my shudder. If only tell-tale movements could escape Warren's eagle-eye, but no, he clearly saw the shiver. I saw his eyes narrow as he went into trying-to-connect-the-dots mode.

Which I headed off by dragging Tara into a conversation about makeup for tonight. I could practically see Warren entering dazed-and-bored land. Whoo hoo, go quick-thinking me!

The rest of the afternoon passed pretty quickly as worry-about-Josh and worry-about Homecoming vied for my mind's attention. Until we got to my bestest-most-favoritest class ever (at least in the Land of Heavy Sarcasm). And luckily my last class of the day.

"Alright, after careful consideration on what we should be thinking of as current, we're going to put off our discussion on the Conway Kid's punishment," Miss Watson announced during Current Events.

"Or lack thereof," Jillian called out from the back.

A few of the kids groaned at the news (were they really that excited to talk about the sentence the judge had given me? They seriously needed a life!), but I was just relieved. In the face of everything else that was going on, I had completely forgotten about preparing (yeah, right) for today's assignment.

"Instead," Miss Watson called, trying to get the class' attention back on her. I thought it was a noble effort considering that tonight was Homecoming and last night had been Will's party, and those were about the only Current Events our class really wanted to discuss. "Instead, we are going to discuss the latest development in Dynamite's trial."

Good grief. I really needed to start watching SBC so I wouldn't be so surprised every time I heard something new in Current Events regarding Dynamite's trial. Ew, was I really thinking of watching the news? Miss Watson was a better teacher than either she or I had probably realized if I was considering keeping up on Current Events outside of the actual class. So what if this newfound desired to be up on wordly events came from a desire to no longer be surprised regarding Dynamite's trial. What counted was my desire to start watching the news, right?

Either way, we still had to spend the next twenty minutes talking about this new psychiatrist Dynamite was calling to testify on her behalf. Apparently, this Dr. Day was up on the latest breakthroughs in the pathic super powers, and how exactly, they affected other people and their different powers.

What a load of bull—well, let's just say, I had no idea who this Dr. Day was, but the good doctor's eyes were definitely brown.

After school I found Tara and we hopped on her bus. Picking out a dress proved to be a rather painless experience. It was kind of like going to a department store. In truth, I had about the same number of options. Tara wasn't kidding about her mom buying her a good selection of rather plain dresses in the hopes that the eccentric, bouncing super girl might eventually wear one of them. I wondered if all mom's bought some clothing for their kids in the hopes of influencing their sense of style. My mom hadn't, but then, it's not like she would have ever fallen under the category of normal.

Tara's mom was going to be out of luck tonight. Tara already had an awesome, red, vintage fifties-era dress to wear tonight that she'd found at a used-clothing store. I grabbed my selected dress, a simple wine-colored dress with wide straps that dragged on the floor a little. It was a good thing my dress shoes had heels. When I left Tara's, I managed to find the right busses that would take me out of suburbia and back into the familiar territory of downtown Maxville by 5:30 p.m.

I wasn't even running late, but Warren still showed up at my aunt's door at 6:45, shocking me into dropping the mascara brush, which I had been fighting with. I didn't even really understand the purpose of the mascara, considering that I had dark eyelashes, but I had tried to curl them, and so far, my eyelashes weren't taking well to the change. I was contemplating how actresses always managed to have perfect eyelashes on TV and wishing I had my own makeup artist tonight. This preoccupation and wishful thinking is the only reason that I didn't hear someone buzzing the apartment to be let up. Good thing Aunt Paige was lying in wait in the living room.

Technically, it was Aunt Paige's fault I dropped the mascara brush, since she's the one who called back to the bathroom, "Nevaeh, you're date is here."

Of course, that immediate fear-of-Josh zing went through my entire body and I dropped the mascara brush into the sink. Aw crap, I was done with it anyway. Screw the mascara, I suddenly had much bigger problems!

Luckily for me, I heard Warren's voice before I started going into panic-attack mode at the idea of Josh in my living room (which was technically my bedroom). Hoover Dam! Warren was in my bedroom! Even though in my head I knew it was really just the living room, it didn't help stop the immediate blush at the thought. God, I was acting like I was in junior high! I could handle this. Right, Warren in my _living room_.

And then Aunt Paige's words finally sank in. Crap, she had called him my date. This was gonna take some awkward explaining.

Except that when I finally made my way out to the living room after putting away the mascara (none too gently, either), I heard Warren promising, "I'll have her home by midnight, no worries." And using a date-like voice.

And on that, I will fully blame the speech problem I suddenly encountered as I entered the room. Certainly my newfound inability to form a coherent thought, forget words, had to do with that, and _not_ with the fact that Warren was standing in my bed room (living room!) wearing a tux. And looking oh-so-gorgeous in it.

"You're drooling," Warren observed dryly. Which proved effective in curing me of my lack of speech.

I blinked. "Can you blame me?!" Wow, had I just said that? In any other circumstance, I would not help inflate Warren's ego, but this was SO far from an ordinary situation. Warren. In a tux. Wow.

I gave in to the urge to fan myself.

He grinned. That super-cute, instantaneous, REAL grin of his. "You're looking kind of hot yourself, there, Tyler."

While that alone might have caused me to pull a Warren and self-combust, Aunt Paige's very loud, "Awwww," shocked me back into reality and I remembered that my aunt was there, observing the whole thing. And then the flashes started.

For the next two minutes my aunt directed us into every kind of pose imaginable. I pretty much blushed through the whole thing, since it wasn't like Warren was even my date. And yet that truism still didn't urge me into correcting Aunt Paige's assumption.

When Warren and I finally escaped the flashing camera light, we hurried down the steps, making a hasty get-away.

We were out the door before I remembered the oddity that was Warren coming to my door like an actual date.

"I thought you were going to meet me outside the building," I said as we walked.

Warren tilted his head and gave a mini-shrug, while still managing to watch my reactions rather closely. "I was going to, but something about the way you got kind of tense at the idea of meeting me outside at 6:50 said maybe picking you up at your apartment would be a better idea."

I nodded slowly, trying to manage my reactions so I wouldn't give anything away.

I was doing such a good job until he added, "And I saw Josh Gregory kind of lurking in the shadows across the street."

I could actually feel all the color leave my face as I started looking everywhere and trying to sense his presence. No sign of him. Maybe he had left when he'd seen Warren.

Warren. Ruh-roh. I glanced at him, hoping my face wasn't actually as much of a Lucy-Ricardo-oops expression as it felt. Heh.

"Right," Warren said matter-of-factly as he continued walking towards our busstop. "Ready to tell me what's going on?"

I shook my head, still trying to find the power of speech that had deserted me with the realization that the dots were practically connecting themselves for Warren. Okay, had to distract him from those dots.

"Why did you let Aunt Paige think you were my date?" I asked, remembering the earlier misconception.

Warren grinned. "You think we had time to explain the Layla-Will mess and your Cupid theory?"

I nodded. "Good point. Hey, I heard you talking to Layla right before lunch today – did you tell her about your conversation with Will last night."

"I did. And I know we were going together only to make Will jealous, and I could have backed out, seeing as how he said he wasn't going anyway, but I didn't want to leave her hanging like that."

"Awww, I'd like a flame boy superhero with a side of chivalry, please," I teased, bumping him with my shoulder. I swear, he almost blushed when I described him as chivalrous, and then it looked like he was going to retaliate the bump by pushing me into the street gutter. "Truce," I claimed, lifting my dress' hem and pointing to my only pair of dress shoes.

He agreed grudgingly.

The ride to Sky High was slower and smoother than normal. Perhaps the driver didn't want us to throw up all over our beautimous formal wear. Maybe he was just mellow and tired, since it was after 7 in the evening. Either way, we made it all the way to Sky High without Warren burning off his tux. I thought about that, and for a single hormone-induced instant, I wished the ride had been as ridiculous as it usually was. But just for an instant. For the rest of our twenty minute ride, I spent my time admiring Warren in a tux. Again, just…wow.

The outside of the school didn't look any different. It didn't look like the decorating committee had spent any time or effort to make us feel like we were approaching a Homecoming wonderland. Which made me apprehensive about the inside of the gym. This was my first Homecoming, and I kind of wanted it to be special. Cheesy, I know, but this was high school and I had expectations. Oh God, what if it still looked like the Save the Citizen ring? I just didn't think my nerves could handle that.

Warren and I entered the gym and it appeared my worries had been for nothing. The gym looked awesome! Like it wasn't even a gym. Wow. Who knew all it took to transform the gym into a formal dance were lights, decorations, and a disco ball. I'd heard about the student body president in charge of the decorating committee. I guess it paid off to have a technopath handle something like this.

It looked like most of the other busses had already gotten here. The place was crowded; kids from every grade were there, dancing or talking along the sidelines. It was kind of cool to see everyone there, heroes and sidekicks, having fun.

I spotted Layla over by the buffet table. I nudged Warren, pointing. "Your date's already here."

He nodded. "Yeah, her bus was supposed to get here a few minutes before ours."

"Figures the downtown kids would be the last to get here," I said.

"Hey, you wanna hang out with Layla and me?" he asked. I gave him a look, waiting for him to realize who he had just asked me to hang out with. It clicked for him pretty quickly, just like things always did for him. "Well, I mean, if I can sit down to dinner with Will, surely you can hang out with Layla for a few minutes."

"Maybe," I agreed, shrugging. "But not tonight. Tonight, I don't want to chance losing control of my powers and having the school fall out of the sky or something disastrous like that. I'm gonna see if I can find Tara. She should already be here."

Warren smiled. "Well, I guess I'll see you around tonight."

Right, he had to get to his _real_ date. Which meant not me. I really needed to stop delaying the moment. "See ya."

I had already turned and started scouring the crowd for Tara when he called, "And take care of yourself tonight, alright?"

"Always," I told Warren with false confidence. "You just worry about playing cupid." Yeah, take care of myself. I had managed to overcome my fear of being outed, seeing as how Josh would lose his power over me if that happened, but I still had that annoying bully to deal with on a personal level.

The dance progressed with ease. I found Tara and her crowd and hung out with them for awhile. I dance once with Jake, the sidekick who could blink lights on and off, and once with Lenny, my power development friend. I was about to ask Rex to dance, figuring he was too shy to ask me himself, when someone tapped my shoulder, right on the wide strap of my borrowed dress.

I knew who it was before I turned around. Hoover Dam, how did he always manage to sneak up behind me. My parents would be so disappointed to find out how many times I had allowed this second-rate creep to sneak up on me. Well, I mean, if my dad wasn't already rolling over in his grave regarding the fact that I was training to be a hero. And hopefully, my mom would never find out either of those little tidbits.

"Here's the thing, Jenny-love," Josh whispered, leaning down and coming so close to my ear I could feel his breath, but luckily, not his skin. I froze at the nickname. Only my mother called me that. Aw crap, what if he'd been in contact with her?

"Yeah," he breathed, "I thought you might recognize that name. It really does pay to do my homework when it comes to you. Now that you're overprotective shadow had finally disappeared, I think it's time you remembered that you're supposed to be my date. As in be here with me."

I turned to face him, sidestepping so as to not come into contact with his skin. Crap, I should have worn a snowsuit to Homecoming!

"What do you want, Josh?" I asked, growing tired of these annoying games.

"Well, you wouldn't tell me what color your dress was, so I figured white flowers was the best bet for your corsage." He held out a plastic box to me. Obviously, I wasn't about to put that on, or pretend that this façade, this new and less fun form of bullying, was some kind of an actual date. Apparently, he could tell by my face that I wasn't going to play his game, because he warned, "You can put it on, or I can put it on for you. It's one of those wrist corsages, so I might accidentally brush your skin. And I think this night is gonna be special enough without you or me blowing up the gym."

I didn't know what he meant by special, but the way he said it was just creepy. And threatening enough that I swiped the corsage from his hands, ripped it open, and put on the stupid flower myself. And okay, it was actually a really pretty arrangement of three white roses…no, wait, I was NOT going to be swept away in the moment of my first high school formal, having a "date," and getting a corsage. I shook myself out of my little teen dream and back into reality. Right, creepy bully, blackmailed date.

"Now, I would put my arm around you like a date should, but I'm not sure that would be the best idea, given your dress," Josh observed, smiling. Smarmy freak.

"Lucky me," I said, allowing my sarcasm to come out, full force.

"Shall we get some refreshments?" He urged me towards the food table, placing his hand on the small of my back.

"Don't touch me," I growled through gritted teeth.

"I'm not. I can't touch your hands, arms, or shoulders, which leaves me with only the clothed areas of you. Hm, I must admit, I'm starting to like this dress. Ooh, your bouncing little friend is coming. Look happy," Josh ordered.

I slanted him an angry look before pasting on a smile. "Hi, Tara."

She was obviously trying to figure out what was going on, looking back and forth from me to Josh to Josh's hand. I couldn't blame her for her confusion. I was rather confused myself as to how I had let everything get as bad as all this.

"You're okay? You're here with _him_?" Tara asked, giving me an incredulous look.

I could feel Josh's hand tightening on my lower back and feared what might happen, or what might be said, should Josh actually get angry. Right now, he was a creepy, oily jerk, but at least he was a controlled jerk. I remembered all too well that temper of his from the first day we'd talked when Tara had interrupted his attempt to discover my power.

"I'm fine. You didn't hear about how Josh asked me to Homecoming in the halls this morning?" I tried to sound as positive as possible. Which was fairly difficult when what I really wanted to do was upend Josh on his ass, but no, he knew my secret, which meant for the moment, I had to play his game. But not forever. Soon, I would figure out some way to turn the tables on him. I Didn't know how, or what I would do exactly, but I couldn't let this go on forever. He was just enjoying it too much.

"Well, I did, but I never thought you'd say yes!" Tara exclaimed.

Grrrreat. Josh was getting scarier by the second. Time to blow this confrontation. "What can I say? I kind of wanted a date to Homecoming. Anyway, I really like this song, so we're gonna go dance now," I said, pulling Josh's arm as I headed toward the dance floor.

And once we got out there, I realized it was a slow song. Oh bother.

Josh grinned as he realized my predicament. "Well, isn't this interesting," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around me. I gritted my teeth, but placed my hands on his shoulders, leaving as much room as possible between my hands and his neck. Interesting would not be the word I used to describe this situation. He continued to annoy me, trying to talk me to death. "You know, I'm REALLY starting to like this dress. This low back design, it's really quite interesting. Since you know, I can't exactly touch your bare skin, I have to place my hands pretty low on your back. An inch lower and we might have a couple of chaperones on our case."

I could hear the grin in his voice, but I tried to ignore him, looking over his shoulder. And spotted Warren, hanging out with a bunch of Stronghold's friends. I'm not sure who was more surprised at the other's choice of company.

Warren's hands lit on fire, and I feared for his tux, thinking it was about to start crawling up his arms, burning his wow-inducing formal wear. I caught Warren's eye and shook my head, trying to send a back off signal.

Warren still took a step in our direction, but I started gesturing wildly with my hands, urging him to back down. The last thing I needed was Warren confronting Josh in public, where Josh might let something slip in anger. Or on purpose. I looked around at all the people, trying to convey this idea to Warren.

Luckily for me (I think), he got the message, and I watched the flames on his hands die down.

God, this supposed teen dream was turning out to be a teen nightmare and we were only a half hour in.

Another fifteen minutes passed with Josh and I dancing and getting some punch. And then, finally, Josh excused himself. His hands lingered and withdrew slowly across my back.

Gross, I was suddenly afraid I was going to throw up in the middle of the Sky High gym. I hurried out a back entrance, going opposite from the direction that Josh had taken. I contemplated going to the girls' bathroom that I always used, but suddenly, that safe haven was tainted after my run in with Josh there.

It was like my first day of Sky High, I realized, remembering the day I had tried to find Warren in detention and ended up traveling all over the school. This time, I found a couple of back hallways that led to a deserted-looking area that I'd never even known was there. Surely there was a safe bathroom around there. I did find one quickly enough, although maneuvering my way back to the gym was going to be a problem.

I was leaning on a sink, standing in front of a mirror, finding it hard to believe that the person I saw in the mirror was the same person who was allowing herself to be blackmailed by a bully, when I felt the first wave of shock and panic closing in on my empathy barriers.

I hit my head on the sink! My legs collapsed out from under me and I hit my forehead on the sink. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Laying dazed on the bathroom floor, I remembered Miss Watson's advice, should this overload of emotion ever happen again. She'd advised me to steer clear from the epicenter of the problem.

My head began to pound, emotions beating on my empathy shields. It hurt to concentrate, but as near as I could tell, everything was coming from the gym. I got up and stumbled to the door. I might not make it all the way to the gym without passing out, but maybe there were some random students in the hallway who could tell me what was going on. I could sense something or someone outside the door.

As I emerged from the restroom, I almost ran into Josh for the second night in a row. He was fusing a door shut, using a funny, metal glove that went halfway to his elbow. I briefly wondered whose power he had borrowed in order to do that, or if it was just some kind of Medulla-like technology, when I realized what the door said. Anti-gravity Room.

He turned and I saw that the arm part of the glove had a compartment; it was open, and there were three round buttons and a fourth button, shaped like an odd shield or helmet.

When he realized who had seen him, Josh raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said, "This is an interesting turn of events, isn't it? You seem to have stumbled upon something you were never supposed to see or know. But then again, so have I."

Then he grinned, which was my only warning as the gloved fist came towards my face. Pain exploded in my cheek and everything went black.

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Author's note: Hmmm, this chapter just kept going and going, kinda like that little insane pink bunny. It was kind of exciting, though, having the characters writing themselves like they were in the beginning chapters. YAY! I haven't stayed up writing till 8 in the morning since July :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 20: Pinkninja83, Lt. Commander Richie, PadFootCc, Angelnanoo, BlackFireRaven, summerlover1, CMHValex, ebonlylight, Tigger101, cheekybumbum, Waive, Nival Vixen, Shayera, Rayvin813, and lovestoread.


	22. Where Can You Run

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-two – Where Can You Run To Escape From Yourself**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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I woke up on a straw pillow. It scratched my face. It took a minute for my brain to unfuzz enough for me to realize that my supposed straw pillow was actually a broom.

Not that I could see it. I couldn't actually see anything and my face was throbbing. Wincing, I gingerly touched my cheek. Damn Josh anyway.

Josh. I instinctively looked around before I remembered the whole not-seeing issue. Greeeeeat.

Why couldn't I see? As great as that glove of Josh's might have been, I doubted even that could have given Josh enough power and strength to hit me hard enough to blind me.

So I'm not blind, but I can't see. Lights off? Wait, where was I? Sleeping on a broom, laying on a cold, hard surface. I could hear a song in the distance, a remake of an old eighties song, "I Melt With You." I sniffed the air, hoping for my other senses to compensate for my lack of sight. I couldn't smell much besides Simple Green.

Simple Green? Oh, this was fantastic. Josh had shoved me in a flipping janitor's closet. I was guessing I was on the floor, but just in case he'd left me on a shelf or table, I felt underneath me. Ahhh, the comforting feel of a hard tiled floor.

Well, if this was a closet, there had to be a light switch (hopefully not out in the hall) and a door. Light and a way out. Those were my goals.

I stood up carefully, not wanting to hit my head on a shelf or a sink or something. Once I was on my feet, I reached out, hoping to gain some sense of space. There was a shelf behind me, and I felt a sense of relief, knowing that I wasn't just floating out in space anymore.

Ugh, I never realized how disorienting it was to be in complete blackness. I didn't even have a light on my watch that I could shine, just as some kind of reassurance.

I followed the shelf, until it hit a wall, then followed the wall until I felt the door.

Feeling around the sides of the door, I found the light switch. Somehow, I wasn't that surprised when I flicked it up and down and nothing happened. So forget finding a light, time to concentrate on a way out.

I could just smell the freedom and light on the other side of the door, though Lord knew, I couldn't see it. I wasn't quite sure what that meant – usually, some light came in along the sides of a door. Unless Josh had knocked out the lights or power in the hallway.

I tried to open the door, which was truly ridiculous since the likelihood that Josh had dragged me into a closet and then left the door unlocked was slim to none. But the weird thing about the door knob was that it turned, like it was going to open, only the door didn't so much as shiver. It was immoveable. Not even the littlest of wiggles.

And there it was, a little brain tickle. Something…something…I needed to remember something. Josh—anti-gravity room. That glove. And the fusing of the door!

Ohhhhhh shitake mushrooms, Josh hadn't locked me in – he'd fused me in! And judging by the lack of light around the edges of the door and the lack of shaking when I rattled the door knob, I'd guess he'd gone all out, on all sides, probably even the corners.

I fought the urge to hyperventilate. So what if there was no oxygen coming into the room? So what if my supply of air had been cut off? Did it really matter that if I kept breathing I'd soon overfill the room with carbon dioxide? Oh, right, I was supposed to be calming the panic, not thinking of more reasons to freak out.

This was some kind of janitor's closet, which meant there had to be some kind of sink. Oxygen would be coming in through there. Somehow, the mental image of me gasping like a fish, head down in the janitor's sink wasn't as reassuring as I'd hoped it would be.

Trying to remember to breathe evenly and normally, I wondered how long it would take to breathe through all the oxygen in the room. Then I wondered if there was some formula taught in upperclassmen's Sidekick math. There had to be, seeing as how it was always the Sidekicks who got kidnapped and buried underground and were about to run out of oxygen before their hero saved them. There had to be some formula for figuring out how long the Sidekick had left to live, based on the amount of space they were enclosed in. And the formula had to have some way to incorporate a miniscule amount of oxygen coming in and calculate how much oxygen was coming in, and how much that flow would slow the rate of death. Hmm…maybe it was taught in a college Sidekick math course.

Then again, if it was a formula for how long the Sidekick had left to live, maybe it was taught in Hero math. After all, they were the ones who would have to rescue the Sidekick in time. It was more than likely that the Super community regarded the formula as not something a Sidekick needed to know, but would rather just leave the Sidekick to die in panic.

So maybe Warren would know how long I had left to live and would get here in time. Uhh…not likely, since he didn't know where "here" was. What if he thought I'd just snuck off for some alone-time with Josh? What if he didn't even realize I was missing!? What if he was too busy getting his dance on?

But Josh hadn't been fusing the anti-gravity room door just for kicks and giggles. He'd had some nefarious plan. What if everyone else was dead and _no_ one would rescue me or ever find me? No, Josh was evil but he wasn't that great of a Super. Even if he'd borrowed fifty people's powers, it was still only borrowing. He couldn't keep the power indefinitely. From what I'd seen, the time limit on his borrowed power depended on how long he was in contact with a Super's skin. So I doubted he'd managed to kill everyone at Sky High's Homecoming dance.

What if he was working with someone? Evil birds of a feather flocked together, although Super history said that flock wouldn't last long (it being hard to trust someone as evil as yourself and all…well, if yourself had decided to join an evil gang). Maybe my parents had the right idea; marry someone evil, then the trust from the marriage could carry over to the evil partnership.

Okay, clearly the lack of oxygen was already getting to me. My what-ifs and hypothetical wonderings were getting out of control. Back to the original wondering of whether Warren or anybody else was coming to my rescue. If whatever evil deeds Josh had been involved in had succeeded, then no one would be available to save me before I ran out of air. But if they hadn't been successful, then, knowing the people at Sky High as I'd come to know them, they would be celebrating and partying, not running around looking for stupid Sidekicks who'd gotten themselves fused into janitors' closets.

I pondered the idea of yelling, but how much noise could escape a fused room? Hmm, good experiment for Sidekick science class. Another downside – if I could hear the music from the dance, the music had to be pretty loud. Very doubtful anyone would hear me yelling.

The oxygen thing was starting to worry me again. I needed air. I refused to suffocate, gasping into the janitor's sink. Clearly, I had to get my own air. And my expansive, hypothetical, what-if-wondering mind could think of only one way to achieve that goal.

I was going to have to use my power.

Waiting for the evil-doom-sounding _dun dun duns_ to finish resounding in my head, I considered all of the things that could go very wrong. At the worst, I could accidentally blow up Sky High. Or maybe I was a little too close to the anti-gravity room (I'd been near it when I was hit, though I had no idea where I was now) and something in there would break because of me and the school would fall out of the sky…yeah right, like Sky High could ever fall. Sure, Josh might have been tinkering in there, but he certainly didn't have the technology-know-how to cause it to fall.

Okay, okay, deep breaths (wait—not too deep, the whole lack of oxygen thing was what had me contemplating this idiotic idea to begin with), I could do this. I _could_.

Miss Watson had been working with me in Power Development (even though she had no idea I was, you know, fake-using my powers). But she'd been encouraging me to work on my projection since I'd seemed to have the whole reading-other's-emotions down (seriously, Lenny and Rex would never be world-class poker players).

Of course, she was encouraging me to use a normal empath's projection power, being able to affect or influence the emotions of the people around them. She had no idea that my projection power was the result of a cross-breeding of powers gone wrong and while I might intake emotions, I outaked an explosion power. Outook?

But still, her advice should apply, right? I could practically hear her coaching me through this, "Relax, focus, control, strength." She'd had me think of my power like a funnel: "Let the emotions pour in, control how they leave." Key word being control, the one thing I lacked when I let my empath shields down.

I could do this. I could do this. Of course I could. I was the daughter of two great Supers (albeit villains, which had gotten me into this whole mess, but still, Super). I could control my power long enough to rescue myself.

_I'm a funnel. I'm a funnel. I'm a funnel._ Continuing my inner chant, I forced myself to relax and focus on my target – the doorknob. Even if it wasn't locked, blowing it up would cause a hole there. Somebody had to investigate it. I positioned my hands the way I'd seen my mother do a thousand times when she was about to use her power. Okay, relax and focus. Control my power. _Feel the funnel. Be the funnel._

I let my shields start to waver. Since there was music playing in the gym, hopefully there'd be people too. Those people had to have emotions I could access. And then I felt it – the high spirits and the happies that were coming from around the gym. And somewhere beyond the gym, I could sense a bit of the grumblies.

I let the emotions in, feeling myself becoming happy as my mood matched the ones I was accessing from the gym, trying to keep a check on the amount that was entering me, the funnel. I tried to control it, I really did. But since I have zero control over the projection once I start taking in emotions, I wasn't surprised when all of those emotions zoomed out of me with a snap.

As I heard the explosion, I was flung backwards, hitting my back and head on the closet's shelves, and then I was falling to the floor, trying to catch myself and instead, landing painfully (and wrongly!) on my left wrist.

Hauling myself to my feet was even more painful. How much could one body (not a small body, but still!) take during a single day?? The knuckles on my right hand were still swollen and bruised from my run-in with Josh in the girls bathroom, my forehead hurt from hitting the sink when everything had started to go down, my cheek still throbbed from Josh's punch (it irked me to no end that my punch had connected with the stall door while his punch had connected with my face), and now the back of my skull hurt and my back was going to be bruised AND I'd wrenched my wrist. It felt like I'd just finished a game of Save the Citizen.

Maybe that was the purpose of Sidekicks playing that sadistic game! Training for all the times we really were beat to a pulp! Great – I was receiving training in pain management.

I looked at my wrist, trying to move it back and forth. Then I realized I was _looking_ at my wrist. I could see it! My eyes flew to the doorknob to see how much damage I'd inflicted (maybe I'd blown the door clear off!). Sadly, the door was still in place, as was the doorknob. I followed the trail of light to see a hole in the top of the door, about the size of a cereal bowl.

Clearly, I had to work on my aim.

But ignoring that pitiful fact for now, look! I'd controlled my power enough to blow a hole in the door, which, technically, had been my original goal. _And_ I'd automatically put my shields back up while flying back into the closet shelves. Mental fist pump! If I hadn't been so bruised and battered, I'd have done a little dance around my small and cluttered janitor's closet.

I reached up and was just able to wiggle my fingers through the hole. Dang it, this was one of those times when being taller than 5'5" would have paid off.

Even though horror-movie like images of my fingers being bitten or cut off, or of me being pulled through the teeny tiny hole in the door kept running through my head, I wiggled my fingers, calling for help only sporadically so I wouldn't lose my voice (just in case I was in here for days). After what felt like forever (but was, in all honesty, probably only like five minutes), I heard a voice.

"Tyler, that you?"

My knees went a little weak in relief – my knight in black leather (well, currently in drool-inducing formal wear). "Warren? Warren? I'm in here!" I called. Just in case he couldn't tell from the wildly waving fingers.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked. I could hear him rattling the door.

"Having a picnic. What do you think I'm doing?! Get me out of here!" Even though I'd been found, I still kept my fingers out there. I tippy-toed a bit, trying to get more of my hand out there. "Warren?" I knew I was being ridiculous, but after being locked in here I could use a little reassurance. The jagged edges of the hole were cutting into the skin on my wrist, but I kept reaching. "Warren," I called again, hearing my voice waver and my eyes burn, but not caring. If I was later embarrassed at almost crying at the rescue, I could blame it on relief and the fact that it was my first real rescue.

And then I felt it, the reassuring presence of another person as he gripped my hand. "Tyler, calm down, okay? I'm going to get you out of there."

"Hurry," I said, hiccupping. I could feel him try to pull away, which just made me hold tighter. "No, wait."

I could practically hear his patience as he got a better grip on my hand and pushed it a little so my hand wasn't all the way through the hole. Some of my pressure eased once I didn't have to tippy-toe. But I wasn't letting go just yet.

"How long have you been in there?" Warren asked, sounding completely comfortable holding my hand through a hole in the door as he waited for me to calm down.

"I'm not sure," I said, trying not to sniffle. "I woke up maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago." And here was where my version of the story was going to differ a little bit from the truth. "The last thing I remember before that was going to the bathroom and hitting my head on the sink when I felt everyone in the gym begin to panic." Okay, so it was like a half-truth. I _had_ hit my head, and things _had_ gotten a little dazed at that point. But it wasn't really the last thing I remembered. I remembered Josh. I remembered seeing him at the anti-gravity room, fusing the door shut. And I remembered what he'd told me right before he punched me. _"You seem to have stumbled upon something you were never supposed to see or know. But then again, so have I."_ He knew my secret, I knew his. What I was going to do with that information, I wasn't sure. For all I knew, he'd been caught doing whatever he'd been doing. Maybe he'd already spilled the beans on me. I had no idea what had been going on in the outside world while I'd been fused in the janitor's closet. For now, I'd hold my cards close to my chest. Even with Warren. _Especially_ with Warren.

Warren's voice called me back to my present situation. "That was over three hours ago."

"Are you serious? What happened?"

"Long story."

"Well, it's not like you're allowed to go anywhere just yet."

Can you hear a shrug? "Gwen Grayson tried to take over the school, then caused it to fall by tampering with the anti-gravity thing. Apparently, she's Royal Pain, all teenaged-up again after being turned into a baby by her own evil-genius weapon seventeen years ago. Or something like that. It got confusing."

I had stopped listening after he'd said anti-gravity. Hoover Dam!

"But everything turned out alright. Stronghold and his friends saved the day, and the dance."

While his tone was mocking, was that a hint of pride I heard underneath it all? "Wait, are you now friends with Stronghold? Did you help save Sky High?!"

"Looks like."

I wished he could hear my grin the way I could hear his shrug and patience.

"Hey, no laughing," he admonished. My grin got bigger. Maybe he could hear it.

"Okay, Tyler, I'm going to let go now. I need you to get as far away from the door as possible, alright? I'm going to hit it with a fireball."

Now, somewhere inside, there was a voice saying that this was a bad idea, letting the door be blown in by fire power, but all I cared about was getting out.

I huddled into a corner, hoping to stay out of the door's path of projection when it came hurdling in.

"You ready?" Warren asked.

"Ready," I answered.

As I was wondering if I'd have been safer huddled in the sink, I felt the fireball hit the door. Nothing happened.

Another two hit in quick succession. Still nothing.

Ruh-roh.

"Tyler, I've got to go get help."

"No, Warren!" I scrambled out of my corner.

"Don't touch the door!" he yelled, a half-second before I would have. Good thing I was able to stop so quickly – I could feel the heat emanating from it.

"I'll be right back. I promise, alright?"

"Alright," I agreed, taking a steadying breath as I eased away from the door. I heard his footsteps as he began running. Warren knew where I was and he'd promised to come back. I was fine.

Still, it felt like an eternity later when I heard footsteps again and Warren calling, "Tyler, I'm back."

I was smiling in relief when I saw someone's fingers grasp the edges of the hole I'd made. What were they doing? I heard the door being pulled away and some of the plaster cracking as parts of the wall went with it. No. Way.

Light poured in as the door was fully removed and I squinted, seeing Warren standing next to Will Stronghold, who was holding the door and parts of the wall.

Trying to ignore the fact that I'd been a panicky, near-weepy mess not fifteen minutes ago, I went for cool and sarcastic now that the actual rescue had taken place. "My heroes," I said dryly. "Peace and Stronghold. Not a sentence I would have EVER thought I'd say."

"I would've been back sooner if I hadn't had to fetch Stronghold from out the gym windows."

"What, you threw him out too?" I asked, rubbing the wrist that had been hanging from the door and was still kind of stinging. I looked down and realized it was stinging because I'd cut it on the jagged metal edges of the door. Looking back into the closet and seeing the janitor's sink, I ran my wrist under some water and then held paper towels to it, hoping I hadn't already gotten blood on Tara's dress.

"Very funny," Warren said. He waited a minute for me to finish my rudimentary first aid. "No, he was out fly-dancing with Layla."

"Wait, you have both of your parents' powers!?" I asked, incredulously.

Stronghold seemed to mistake my incredulity as being wonderfully amazed. Pfft. "Yeah. I don't think it's even been done before. Royal Pain seemed to think it was impossible. But here I am. Super strength and super flight."

"And there's nothing weird about them? They both work like your parent's version?"

"Uh yeah. Why?" Stronghold asked, sounding a little confused by my preoccupation with this new development.

"Just wondering," I mumbled. Oh, this was just perfect! He gets both of his parents' powers, and both powers work just dandy. Me, I get both of my parents' powers in some kind of unusable hybrid. Fan-freaking-tastic. Just more proof that I'm a freak of the world.

Warren gave me a sympathetic shrug, knowing what I was thinking. "There's still a half-hour of the dance left. You feel up to heading back there?" he asked.

I nodded. I might not be ready for a conga line, or to do the limbo, but I could be a wallflower for a few more minutes until the busses took off.

"What were you doing down here?" I asked Warren as the three of us started walking down the hall towards the gym. Me, Stronghold, and Warren Peace, walking down the halls of school together. Who would have EVER thought they'd see the day?

"When I saw you weren't in the gym, I went looking for you."

"It took you _three hours_ to notice I wasn't there?" I asked in semi-mock outrage. Three hours!? Apparently I was a better wallflower that I thought.

"Did I forget to mention how Royal Pain turned everyone into babies with her evil-genius Pacifier weapon?"

"Wait, she used a pacifier as a weapon? That's just sad."

"No, she called her weapon The Pacifier because it turned a person into a baby. You gonna let me finish?"

"Sorry. Please continue." I tried to look contrite. I think I failed when I grinned.

"Okay, so she turned everyone into babies, including all the teachers and The Commander and Jetstream." I grinned at that and shared a look with Warren, hoping Stronghold wouldn't see it. While we might not be villains and while Warren and Stronghold were now friends, I doubted The Commander would ever be on our Christmas lists. "Right," Warren continued. "So then Baby Medulla had to reconfigure The Pacifier to reverse it, and that took two hours, which is really quite amazing considering Medulla was nine-months-old. Then we had to round up all the babies and turn them back into their normal selves. So it took me awhile till I noticed that neither you nor Josh had been your baby selves, which meant you weren't in the gym when everything began to happen."

Was that a slightly hurt/accusatory tone in his voice when he mentioned me and Josh being gone together for that long? Did Warren thing something was actually going on between Josh and me? Could he maybe, slightest-possibility-ever be jealous? The butterflies started going insane in my stomach and I tried to reign them in. I was counting chickens before they hatched. Jumping to conclusions. I needed to get a grip on reality.

_Pop!_ My premature bubble burst as Stronghold handed me that reality grip when he said, "And did you notice she was missing before or after you finished dancing with Mindy Cartwright?"

Warren avoided looking at me as he answered tersely, "During."

Ouch. Just what I needed, mental pain on top of everything else tonight. Mindy Cartwright was the freeze-powered junior blonde. Ice princessly beautiful.

"She's hot," Will commented.

Warren spared him a glare. "It's not like that."

"Fire and Ice. How cute," I said, the sarcasm positively dripping from my voice.

Warren finally looked at me. "Which is what I noticed wasn't working while we were dancing. I started looking for a way out, which was when I realized I hadn't seen you."

"In the last three hours. Glad you needed an excuse to get out of your dance with Mindy. If you hadn't realized how uncomfortable touching an ice elemental would be, I might have never been found!"

We'd reached the gym (how far away had we been?!) and Will, who'd grown increasingly ill at ease with what his joking had brought about, darted off in search of Layla.

"If you hadn't gone off with Josh, I wouldn't have had to go looking for you in the first place," he retorted.

"I didn't go off with Josh!" I protested.

"Then where did you two disappear to?"

Luckily, I was saved from having to answer as some of Stronghold's friends showed up. Me, saved by Layla Green. Must be snowing in Hell.

"Hi, Warren, have you seen Will? Hey, you're Nevaeh, right, from the Paper Lantern?"

Was my smile as sickly-looking as it felt?

Thankfully, Warren noticed how uncomfortable I was and picked up the task of introducing everyone. "Tyler, Zach, Magenta, Popsicle, and you've apparently met Layla," he said, pointing them out. "Stronghold's friends, Nevaeh Tyler," he added pointing to me. "She's been locked in a closet for the last three hours. How did you get there, by the way, from the girls' bathroom?"

"I was using the bathroom by the anti-gravity room. When I went to leave, I saw someone in the hallway. They punched me. That's the last thing I remember."

"I thought the last thing you remembered was hitting your head on the sink," Warren commented, confused and starting to get suspicious.

Crap. Thinking Warren alert.

"Uh huh. So…Will?" Layla asked again. Did that make two saves in a row for Layla? Hoover Dam, my dad must be rolling in his grave.

"He went looking for you," Warren answered, just as Will came up behind Layla. They started holding hands and making gooey eyes at each other.

"So you missed everything that happened?" Zach asked. He looked like he was trying not to move to the music, but couldn't seem to help himself.

"Pretty much," I shrugged.

Well, that admission led to a whole bunch of excited retelling of the events that had gone down that night. They told me everything, from Warren blasting them an escape exit, Zach being Rudolph, Ethan giving Lash a swirly (I cheered and high-fived him), Layla going all Super Power on Penny in the cafeteria, Warren and Popsicle's fight with Speed, the school falling, Magenta fixing the Royal Pain glitch in the anti-gravity technology (gulp!), their informal Hero of the Year award, and the containment of Royal Pain, Stitches, Lash, Speed and Penny. The popsicle kid relayed most of the story. Ethan's attention to detail was rather amazing.

All in all, it sounded like I had missed the event of the year. And judging from everyone around us, Stronghold and his friends had become mini-celebrities. I wondered what Monday would be like.

In all of their while-you-were-sleeping retellings, nobody mentioned Josh. When they told me about the villains-in-training being held in the detention room, his name never came up. Did that mean he hadn't been caught yet or that no one knew of his involvement? I opened my mouth to ask about him, but again, the last thing he'd said to me killed the question before I voiced it.

If I kept silent, if I kept Josh's secret in exchange for him keeping mine, I was going to be just as bad and villain-loving as everyone assumed I was because of my parentage. I didn't want to do that and prove everyone right. I opened my mouth again, but still nothing came out. I spotted Tara, grinning as she tried to bounce high enough to touch one of the disco balls. I glanced up at Warren standing next to me.

If I said anything, if I mentioned Josh, I was going to lose all of this. Everything I'd gained since coming to Sky High would be gone – Aunt Paige, Tara, Warren, my classes, Power Development with Rex and Lenny, my job, my anonymity in a Super-filled town. I'd already lost everything once and had had to start all over. I didn't think I was strong enough to do it again. Plus, I'd kind of run out of ostracized relatives that weren't in communication with my mother. My mother…oh crap. If Josh told everyone who I was, she was going to find me. I mean, I wasn't really in _hiding_ from her, but I certainly hadn't told her where I was. I'd kind of hoped she'd just assume I'd become a ward of the state of California. I'm not sure which reason carried more weight with me – the selfish social one or the self-preserving hiding one. Either way, as horrible as it was to admit, even if only to myself in my little inner argument, I was keeping Josh's secret. For the moment. If no one else was mentioning him, I wasn't going to either.

I suddenly felt as sick as I had when Josh and I had been dancing earlier that evening.

Warren kind of nudged me, leaving his arm touching mine. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I tried to look reassuring as I nodded. "Yeah, just a slight headache."

His fingers touched the bruise under my eye, just the briefest of touches, so fast I almost wondered if I'd imagined it. Would have believed it too, but it was hard to ignore the fact that his fingertips started smoldering in anger.

I tried to convince the butterflies in my stomach that it had been nothing more than a concerned-friend move. "I'm fine."

"And you don't remember who hit you?" Warren asked doubtfully.

"After hitting my head on the sink, it gets a little fuzzy," I repeated as I touched the bruise on my forehead.

"Want to head home early? I can look for a ride, maybe borrow a car or a bus."

I smiled. It felt wrong. "Dance only goes another fifteen, twenty minutes, right? I'm good."

"Besides, if you left early, your date might wonder where you disappeared to. Weren't you here with Josh Gregory?" Stronghold's popsicle friend commented. Ethan's attention to detail was rather annoying.

"Yes, where is your _date_?" Warren asked, putting way too much emphasis on the word date.

"I don't know. Maybe somebody did us a favor and left him as a baby."

I think Stronghold and his friends were a little confused at the animosity in my voice, but I didn't care what they assumed about Josh's and my "date." I was more concerned with the fact that I had just passed up multiple opportunities to come clean. Great. I was a horrible person.

A popular slow song came on, and most of the group drifted onto the dance floor. Well, Layla and Stronghold drifted out the window. Ethan had been keeping a pretty tight hold on the Hero of the Year Award, which seemed to bring him to the attention of quite a few Junior and Senior girls. The nightlight and the purple girl had been looking kind of close all evening and hurried back onto the floor. Warren held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

I nodded. As we moved into the crowd of dancing students, I couldn't help thinking this was one of the benefits of not telling the truth about Josh. Which made me feel guilty, for keeping the secret and reaping the benefits. But that guilt didn't stop me from enjoying this dance with Warren. And the butterflies in my stomach must have sensed that they finally had a chance to fly free, but didn't seem to take the opportunity. For once, I was able to enjoy being in close proximity to Warren without any nervousness. Just comfortable.

"Warren—"

"I—"

We both spoke at the same time and grinned. I quickly started speaking again before he could. "Me first. I'm sorry I got on your case about the whole three hour thing. I really was just kind of teasing you at first."

"Until you found out about the dance with Mindy."

I was glad it was semi-dark so Warren couldn't see that my face matched the color of his flames when he was pissed. "Uh…yeah." The lights were dim. We were dancing close enough that I didn't have to actually look at his face, which made this confession time easier. "I got a little jealous." His ego doubled in two seconds, I swear. "It's not just that she got to dance with you while I was locked in a closet." Annnnd the ego deflates. "Although that's part of it. But also, I was realizing how much everything has changed now. I mean, just think about it. Like lunch today was you, me, and Tara. But now you aren't mortal enemies with Will…does that mean the lunch table is going to get a lot more crowded? You're a school hero now – hot, rich chicks like Mindy are going to be offering you rides to school. You hate the bus and will probably take them up on it so you won't have to be so green that you resemble a Christmas tree on fire. And hot, rich chicks won't want to give me a ride so I'll still be on the bus. And you might feel bad for awhile for deserting me, but it won't last long. Then, with all your new friends, you probably won't have time for a job anymore, especially not one as uncool as a busboy, so you'll probably quit your job, or maybe get one at the mall where you can see your new friends all the time. The next thing you know, you'll be running for Prom King and someone will ask you, Whatever happened to that freak friend of yours, and you'll ask, Who? See, everything's changing. So I got a little bit jealous."

"Wait, you think being a busboy's uncool?"

"You know what I mean," I protested. "Besides, I wash dishes, which is even less cool than busboy since the dishes are all gross and yucky."

"Tyler," he said, and I heard all the patience in the world in that one word. "You're ridiculous."

"I know," I admitted. Hearing it all out loud really did show its absurdity. "But I was in a panic-prone mood and you can't deny that things _are_ changing. You, hanging out at Homecoming with the Stronghold gang?"

"Tyler, you want to join our gang?" Warren asked in a movie-of-the-week-peer-pressure voice.

"Oh, yes. Please let me exchange some kind of initiation, rite-of-passage with Layla Green."

"It's not so bad, hanging out with the child of your sworn enemy."

"I guess you would know," I conceded. But really, this Warren and Will being friends thing was going to take some time to wrap my head around.

We were both quiet for a minute, but it didn't last long.

I wasn't surprised when Warren asked, "You ready to tell me what really happened tonight?"

"This ability you have that tells you when I'm lying – you don't always have to use it. You could just let sleeping dogs lie," I advised.

"Not if I think that sleeping dog is going to wake up soon and bite you in the ass."

"But if the dog is on a leash, I'm the one in control."

"Having that dog on a leash only means it's way too close to you for safety, and pretty soon, it's going to start to feel trapped, causing the dog to panic and turn on you."

"You're not helping my headache," I grumbled, unable to find any more arguments that would suggest I finally had some of the power back in my relationship with Josh, without actually stating the situation in such clear terms.

"Fine. I'll let it go. For now."

We hung out on the sidelines for the next two fast songs (my body felt like it was about to break and there was no way I was going to be able to really get out there and get my groove on), and then danced the last slow song together. We were both pretty quiet – me because I wanted to make sure I didn't let anything else slip, and Warren because he was probably trying to piece together everything that I had already inadvertently mentioned.

Warren walked me to my apartment building's door after the bus dropped us off downtown. He was still being pretty quiet, which worried me. Quiet Warren meant thinking Warren, and he was too intuitive for his own good. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he figured out that Josh had been blackmailing me, if he hadn't already figured it out. And Josh disappearing from the dance wasn't a good sign. It was a detail that I knew Warren would take into consideration while he was trying to puzzle out the true story.

I stopped at the top of the steps, Warren joining me. "Promise me that you'll get some sleep tonight, that you're not going to stay up all night thinking about all this stuff," I said.

Warren's face went from pensive to blank in half a second. "I don't know what you mean. I'm tired after tonight and I'm going straight to sleep. Speaking of which, you're moving kind of slowly there, Tyler. Make sure you take something before bed tonight or you're going to be even sorer tomorrow."

"I know. I hit my back on the closet shelves when I blew that hole in the door. HEY! With all that was going on, I didn't get to tell you! I used my power!"

"You what?"

"I did. I used my power to blow that hole in the closet door. I used my power. Of course, I _was_ aiming for the doorknob, but whatever. What counts is that I used my power. And didn't blow up Sky High!"

Warren smiled at me. I felt giddy with my remembered accomplishment. I felt like a little kid who'd gotten an A on a spelling test and had to show it to everyone around. Warren asked, "Does this mean you'll soon be ruling the ring in Save the Citizen?"

"Well, no. I still can't use my power in public – it's a little too infamous for me to risk showing it off. And I still don't have any control. Can't guarantee that I wouldn't blow up the person next to me instead of the object I was aiming for. But whatever, I don't care about being able to use it in front of people. What matters is that I used it! On purpose. I wanted to put a hole in the door and I did."

"Way to go, Tyler." He was grinning, I was grinning, and there was a moment. Just a moment where I thought there might be something more. Just a moment where everything was perfect in the world. It was there and gone so fast, but I was still feeling its impact as he started down the stairs.

Turning once he'd reached the sidewalk, he said, "Promise you'll take care of yourself tonight?"

I could only nod like an idiot. "Uh huh." I felt dazed, like I'd just hit my head, again. That moment. It felt like everything had changed.

He was still waiting at the bottom of the steps and I realized he was waiting for me to go inside.

After unlocking the door and stumbling and tripping my way inside, I leaned back against the door, forgetting that it was glass and Warren could probably see me, not even able to stand on my own two feet after that blink-and-miss-it moment.

We'd had a moment. I didn't know what it meant, or what it had changed, and I was feeling too dazed to puzzle it out tonight, but it was something. It was significant.

"I feel like I should be outraged that my date is almost kissing some other guy right in front of me."

Ice ran down my spine as I recognized the voice coming from the shadows. Josh stepped out into the dim hall light. I whirled around, looking for Warren, but he had already made it to his own building.

"Josh," I began warily, trying to ease away from him without being obvious, sidling along the wall. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Don't you know? I live in 3-B." At my snort of disbelief, he continued explaining, "Well, that little old lady who was kind of enough to let me in since I'd lost me key believed it. I guess this isn't one of those buildings where you get to know your neighbors and who their kids are."

"What are you doing here?" I asked again, trying to get him to focus on the problem at hand, namely that he had somehow infiltrated my safety zone. I felt very insecure.

"I thought we might need to have a little chat," Josh answered.

"Uh, no, I don't really feel the need to talk to you right now. Really. No need."

"Now, see, I just don't see it that way. The way I see it, I need to know what happened after I left the dance. I was following the plan, but it seemed some of my…friends…had a little trouble doing that."

"What happened after you left the dance? How would _I_ know!? You knocked me out with that stupid glove and FUSED me into a janitor's closet! For THREE hours! I missed everything."

"True enough," Josh agreed with a small, reminiscent smile. "But what I need to know is why the school isn't lying in some crater in the middle of Maxville and why you and your boytoy out there are still teenagers and not infants."

"Oh please, you can't actually have believed that pathetic plot of Royal Pain's would work. Vengeance plots never do – there's too many emotions involved in revenge for the job to be pulled off cleanly."

His grin was evil. "Your parents' training is showing through. Fourteen years of villainous tips and ways of thinking are hard to overcome, aren't they?"

I paled at the realization that I had been quoting my father, practically verbatim. "Never mind that. Back to the point – you knew it wasn't going to work, which is why you didn't stay up there and get caught with your…friends. And that's why you're lurking in my building's entrance way. You knew I'd be back at some point, all regular sized and not an infant."

Josh nodded. "True enough. I _did_ have my suspicions. Honestly, can't you just tell that they weren't raised by villains? Well, Royal Pain was raised the second time around by Stitches, but clearly, they weren't the brightest crayons in the villain box. Still, plotting to reinvent the school, or just drop it out of the sky, was fun. Entertaining. Sometimes, high school can just be so monotonous and boring."

"Dropping it out of the sky. That was your idea. Your little way to participate," I said.

"Of course. If things had gone according to Royal's plan, they wouldn't have needed a Villain High for at least thirteen, fourteen years. Making a big statement by causing it to fall out of the sky was much more practical. Royal wanted to make sure Homecoming was legit-looking. I think she got caught up a little in this new persona she'd created, the pretty, popular girl. She wanted it all – the perfect high school experience and her vengeance. Greedy plans never work. So I volunteered to handle rigging the anti-gravity device to fail."

"For which you borrowed Gwen's power," I threw in. At his surprised-I'd-guessed-it-correctly look, I rolled my eyes. "You seem like you'd be techno-impaired. Certainly you wouldn't have been able to create and install that kind of technology without a little power help."

"Hey, you're ruining all the good parts of my villain monologue," Josh chided. There was absolutely no remorse in Josh's voice as he explained everything. No remorse, no fear of being caught. He was confident in his ability to get away with his small part. "First, you ruin my clean getaway, and now my monologue? Are there no manners left?"

"You punched me when I ruined said getaway. You still want to talk about manners?" I asked wryly.

"Good point. Hmm, that's a great bruise, by the way. Anyway, back to the getaway, you did ruin it. No one was supposed to be down there. So then I had to worry about you seeing me, and possibly mentioning something to the wrong people, and blowing my whole plan to get away with everything. Which led me to this dingy apartment stairway. Just want to make sure we're clear on our deal."

"We don't _have_ a deal."

"Sure we do. I keep your secret, you keep mine."

"Then I'm just as guilty as you."

"Hardly," Josh scoffed.

"What makes you think I would ever agree to go along with your deal?"

His smile oozed smarmy confidence. "You already have, haven't you?"

My confidence in my leashed-dog theory wavered. He could tell just by the look on my face that he'd gotten it right. "You kept quiet about seeing me. You're already keeping the secret. Continue to do so, and we'll both be good. I'm free, you're free, we're all free."

"Uh, not your pathetic partners in crime," I reminded him. "They're going to roll over on you the first chance they get, then I'm left as an accomplice, aiding and abetting you."

"No, they'll stay quiet. There's always the hope that I'll stage a break-out and they'll soon be free again. They're not going to give up that hope, thus they're not going to give me up."

"That's a twisted version of loyalty," I muttered in disgust.

"Villains," Josh reminded me matter-of-factly.

"So I'm just supposed to stay silent, not tell anyone that you were involved in a dastardly, if pathetic, attempt to take over the school? Let you continue to walk the halls of Sky High as if nothing had happened?"

He nodded and smiled in that smarmy-trying-to-be-charming-and-smooth way of his. "Only if _you_ want to continue to walk those same halls."

Hades. He had me and he knew it. "Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "But if this is a quid pro quo type of deal, we're EVEN. No more blackmail. And no harassment. If you pass me in the hall – you don't talk to me, no evil looking, no pretending to almost touch my skin, no Beatles! If I'm going to stay silent and you're going to stay silent, that's it, it's done. We're even. I never have to talk to you again, and you never talk to me." Laying out my own guidelines seemed like a good idea when making a deal with the devil.

"Wait, no Beatles? I don't know if I can agree to that…" He faked a thinking-about-it look.

I raised my eyebrows, refusing to be pulled into this.

"Not even Help! or Drive My Car? How about just one line from Yesterday?"

At my continued tapping-of-the-foot-and-waiting look, he gave me a long-suffering sigh. "Agreed. And there ends the partnership of Josh Gregory and Jenny Conway."

"My name is Nevaeh Tyler."

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Author's note: I was proctoring the graduation exams for my students and found myself with hours everyday with free quiet time. Finally able to take a breath and get some writing done. I'm not sure when the next update will be; we're heading into the final stretch for the school year and things seem to be going full steam ahead. sigh But it's almost summer!

Thanks to everyone for their patience in waiting for an update (good Lord, three months!) and everyone who reviewed Chapter 21: Little Raven-Hawk, Tigger101, ebonylight, MrRigger, rootbeergirl19, mentalistboo!, PadFootCc, summerlover1, SilverDemonSoul, Ruby-Stilettos, Luna Moon, Flicker, Mynuet, willaj18, amrawo, Angelnanoo, equinelover101, Tinuel, Nelle07, Pinkninja83, Lt. Commander Richie, Hedonistic, Superchick09, Rayvin813, gothlyssa, drakenleigh, iluvthecheat, The Breeze, cheekybumbum, childofdarkness154, iMnOtReAlLYcRaZy, Nival Vixen, frodocat, storm, PyroGurl313, Bitsy Glitter, unique rebelliion, Tarwen210, Elenya2, All-American Vampire, Rictor, Mandi96, and Waive.


	23. Yesterday Left My Head Kicked In

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-three – Yesterday Left My Head Kicked In**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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"Josh found out, didn't he?"

I started, jolted out of my thoughts about yesterday's disaster of a dance by Warren's question. It took a moment for me to realize what he'd just said.

"Wait, what?" I asked, trying to rid my face of the kid-busted-with-the-cookie-jar expression. _Look innocent, look innocent_, I repeated as I turned to face Warren, coming out of the stairwell door and joining me on the roof of my apartment building. "What are you doing up here?"

Warren shrugged. "I know Paige likes it up here. You weren't in your apartment, you don't work today. I figured I'd find you up here."

"Oh," I replied, a little deflated at how boring my life was that there were only two places I'd be on a Saturday.

"I've thought about it," Warren explained, continuing with his original opening statement. That little sentence was one of the most dangerous in Warren's vocabulary. "And it's the only reasonable explanation. I figured someone was bothering you, but you wouldn't tell me who. I thought it might have been Lash, but you weren't scared of him. And then I heard about the Beatles-singing in the hallway. Realized it was Josh you'd been hiding from for the last couple of days, and with good reason too, since he was one of the few people that would be able to figure out what your power was, thereby figuring out who you were. Then, I saw you with him at the dance, as his 'date.' You obviously were not with him of your own free will, since you'd freaked at the idea of him skulking around your building as _we_ were leaving for the dance. Therefore, the only way he could have forced you to be there with him, the only leverage or power he would have had over you, was if he had figured out who you were."

Good grief. I sank into one of the lawn chairs that Aunt Paige kept up on the roof. Warren was seriously too good at connecting the dots. And kind of hot when he did all that thinking stuff and explained it all. But now was not the time to think about Hot Warren, now was the time to be embarrassed about how much of an idiot I was for even trying to hide my being-bullied status. Keeping secrets from him was proving to be pointless since he figured everything out on his own soon enough. I let my head rest against the back of the chair as I confessed, "I ran into him on Thursday night. Right as I was getting home."

Warren sat in the chair next to mine. "Well, why didn't you run the other way, or call for help, or run into the build—"

I cut him off. "I mean, I literally _ran into_ him." I quickly stood back up and grabbed Warren, dragging him up with me. I then proceeded to demonstrate by kinda bumping into Warren and grabbing his arms for balance, like I had done with Josh. I actually managed to almost not let my fingers drag off his jacket as I stepped back. "Except he was just wearing a t-shirt. Short sleeves. No jacket. Too much skin."

"Tyler," he growled. "That was dumb. You should have waited for me that night!"

He sounded seriously angry, but it was the kind of anger that was only half directed at me. Knowing Warren, he probably felt a little guilty that he hadn't been with me that night. "I thought I was safe. He hadn't bothered me for a couple of days. And _you_," I said, poking him in the chest. Hard. "Are an idiot if you think any of it was your fault."

Rubbing his chest, he gave me a faux-sullen look. "I wasn't thinking that," he protested, not at all convincingly. "We both know you were supposed to wait for me that night."

"That's right," I said, nodding. "_I_ should have waited. _I_ didn't. Therefore, _I'm_ the idiot. Got that? No hero guilt trips allowed."

"But hero guilt trips are part of the curriculum. They were taught last year in Sophomore Hero Essentials. Guilt trips are a must for all heroes."

I grinned, not sure whether he was serious or not, but I could just see that as actually being taught at Sky High.

"How are you doing this morning," he asked.

I shrugged. "Ignoring all thoughts of Josh, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"And Josh isn't going to say anything?"

How to explain that part without telling the truth? Guess I'd just use what I'd known about him before the dance. "Well, I was all packed and ready to get out of Dodge all night on Thursday. Slept on my duffel bag. I really thought he'd say something, but he didn't, and I don't think he will. He enjoys power too much, and the fact that he knows my secret? It gives him power over me. I don't see him giving that up anytime soon, so I really don't think he'll tell anyone."

We stood for a second, looking out over the small park a block away, while Warren thought that over. I could see his brain mulling over the logic and reasoning. It really was as close as I could come to thinking of a reason why Josh hadn't said anything all day Friday. Warren seemed to agree, nodding after awhile.

We were quiet for a minute before he turned towards me and tilted my chin up. I quelled the immediate giddy response when I realized he wasn't looking deep into my eyes but rather looking carefully at the bruise on my face. I had to keep reminding myself of his purely practical reasoning while at the same time wishing he was touching my face for more romantic reasons. He asked, "Why are you protecting Royal Pain?"

Okay…genuine confusion on my part. "What are you talking about?"

"I can tell when you're lying. And yesterday, when you said you didn't know who hit you, you were definitely lying. The bruise on your face? It's oddly shaped like the fingers on some freaky-techno-crap metal glove."

Oh blast. "I'm not 'protecting' anyone. Now that you mention it, I kind of remember a glove coming at my face, but that's all." I tried to keep my facial features and my voice from giving anything away. If Warren really could tell when I was lying…well, then his little lie radar ought to be going crazy right about now. I could only hope that my lying skills were improving somewhat now that I knew to be extra careful around him. He seemed to accept that explanation. Lucky me. I think.

I had lost count of the opportunities I'd had so far to tell the truth. Sometimes, when you had something hard to say, you could keep putting it off because there never seemed like a good time to bring it up. Well, this was not one of those times. This was one of those times where there had been countless great opportunities to bring up Josh's role in the whole fiasco, but the little devil anti-conscience on my shoulder kept telling me to shut it for selfish reasons. And if I passed up one more come-clean-about-the-truth chance, the little angel conscience on my other shoulder was going to grab the devil-anti-conscience's pitchfork and start poking me with it. Yeah…I was going to go to that special hell for people who put their social well-being ahead of the good of the rest.

If I had been a truly good person, there would be no dilemma here. I'd tell the truth and forget myself. Apparently, I sucked.

"Just a glove?"

I nodded. Tried to keep it from becoming an overeager nodnodnod.

"Alright. Then, leaving yesterday behind, let's go," Warren said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the roof door.

"Go? Go where?" I asked as we entered the stairwell. Warren was mysteriously quiet. "Where are we going," I asked again as we started hurrying down the stairs, skipping my floor and continuing down to the ground level.

"We're going on a field trip," Warren said. "I called the hospital, so your aunt and my mom both already know where we're going to be today."

I followed behind him, trying not to trip and fall down the stairs in my effort to keep up with him. "What's going on?"

"We're going out of town. There's an abandoned shooting range outside of town. It's time for some real power development."

"Uh, Warren, we're going to have a real problem with this idea," I tried to tell him as he was practically jumping down the stairs. I gave up talking for the moment in order to concentrate on not tripping over my feet and going head first down the stairs.

We reached the apartment entryway finally and I continued to try to explain why his helping me to practice my powers was a recipe for disaster. "Warren, remember the cafeter—"

That was as far as I got before we exited the building and I saw what was waiting for us outside.

Or rather, who.

Tara was leaning against Warren's mom's silver Camry. I could only stare in shock, mouth gaping like a trout's.

"Tara?" my voice came out more squeak than an actual sound, but, hey, as long as they both understood the question and the confused shock within the question, it was all good.

"Are we ready to start this super secret training mission already? This is gonna be awesome! My first real mission, here I come!"

Not wanting to be rude to Tara, but really having no idea what else to do, I grabbed Warren's arm and dragged him a few feet away.

Warren began his explanation, "I did a little bit of reading."

"And found TARA?!"

"Are you going to let me explain?" At my reluctant nod, he continued, "You and I both know you need to practice your power and you're obviously not getting any practice in at school because you're too afraid of exposing your identity. I knew that as an empath, you were going to need another person to draw emotions from. But as I was reading up on your empathy powers last night, I realized that I was possibly the worst person for you to work with. The reading had a lot to say about how elementals and beginning empaths were a bad mix because as elementals, our emotions are a bit too concentrated and intense for you to be able to handle very well. Which, by the way, makes the way we were introduced, with you trying to read me, a really stupid stunt."

"Yeah, I knew that."

"You knew that? How did you know and I didn't?"

I could tell the fact that I knew something about supers and powers that he didn't bothered him. "Aside from the fact that I grew up with an empathic father, at my old school, all freshmen had to take Intro to Elementals, Intro to Morphs, and Intro to Pathos," I said with a shrug.

"Pathos?"

"Empaths, telepaths, technopaths. Mind powers. PHS's curriculum was focused more on learning about powers than learning about your hero or sidekick role in the super world."

"Weird," Warren said. It was his turn to shrug. "So you knew, and you still tried to read me?"

"Uh…yeah. I guess I figured if I did it quick enough, I could control it. And not release any of those emo-energies. Guess I figured wrong."

"Which is exactly why I brought Tara along."

"Um, small glitch in that plan. She's gonna figure out who I am!" I whisper-yelled, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. Really, his hair was just too fine for such an action. I half feared I'd end up running my hands through his hair instead of having it be the reprimanding smack the action was supposed to be.

"Warren already told me, if that helps any," Tara piped up from where she was still leaning against the car.

Again, my jaw dropped. This trout look was really not working for me, but I couldn't seem to help it.

"FYI – when you want to have a conversation that others can't overhear, you should probably go further than three feet away. That only works in the movies. Real life, I can hear you," Tara informed me, grinning. "And so you're Jenny Conway, big deal. Really not that surprising, once I had some time to think about. Considering how long the drive is from my house in the suburbs to here, I've had a lot of thought-processing time. You've been a little super-fugitive, hiding out at Sky High. How cool is that?"

"Cool, right," I repeated, a sickly smile on my face. "Just to be clear, you understand the top secret nature of my in-hiding status, right?"

"Well, yeah," Tara said, rolling her eyes. "Although I don't fully understand why. How many people really care that you're the daughter of Dynamite and Heartthrob?"

"Rephrase that as who really cares that I'm the _Conway Kid_, and you might get a higher number. The way I figure it, about half the school believes that I helped my parents with their reign of terror. And helped to kill some of these students' parents. Don't forget that part. I can't. And I'm pretty sure Jackson Windsor and Kendra Abrams can't either. Voltage Windsor and Spitfire Abrams were both killed by my parents. Before I got involved in the fight, I know," I added quickly, sensing that both Warren and Tara were about to bring up that fact. "But I doubt that would matter to them. Then there's also the matter of Jillian Lockwood. Accidental though it was, the car that I sent tumbling through the air smashed into her mom's car, breaking her concentration, and gave my mom the opportunity she needed to explode Visine's car."

"Okay, okay, top secret, I get it," Tara conceded in the face of all that reasoning. "Though I should admit right now, I'm a little thrown by the name thing. Like I might accidentally call you Jenny or something."

Warren opened the driver's door and got in. I guess we were just expected to follow suit. Tara hopped into the back, so I went to the passenger's side and climbed in, right before Warren pulled into the road. I wasn't sure if it was the fact that Tara was with us or if he just liked to drive, but he'd apparently left his patience pants at home. I turned to continue the conversation with Tara. "Calling me Jenny would be bad. Seriously bad."

"Well, I _know_ that," Tara said, exasperated. "But I really wouldn't want it to slip. And I could call you Nevaeh, but that sounds odd now that I know the truth. It would be much easier if you had a power name, like Match Stick here." She reached up and patted Warren's shoulder.

"Like Gummi Bear back there," Warren corrected.

Tara shot him a mini-glare before continuing with what she'd been saying. "But don't worry, Jenny-Nevaeh-Conway-Tyler, I'll be super careful in public."

"It might help if you left off including Jenny Conway in my name, even in private," I suggested weakly. My stomach felt funny, but I didn't know if it was from hearing myself acknowledged as Jenny Conway so often in such a small amount of time, or that Warren drove like a maniac.

"Good point," Tara said, sitting back for a moment to think about this new development.

I knew quiet-Tara wouldn't last long, and I was right. As we left Maxville, Tara began to talk about the night before, but it didn't last long. Warren said talking distracted him, then proceeded to demonstrate by swerving the car around every time Tara opened her mouth. Since Warren liked to drive 80 miles an hour, I begged Tara to just keep quiet and let us make it through the drive alive. I could only imagine how horrifying it must have been for Warren to be trapped in the car with her between picking her up and arriving back at our apartment buildings. Maybe, since he'd been explaining the situation, he'd been able to do most of the talking. I decided not to further antagonize the two by asking about it.

We made record time, or at least I assumed so (seeing as how I'd never actually been out there), based on the amount of times Tara checked her watch and tapped it to make sure it was still working, and then looked at Warren with a slightly impressed nodding of the head.

After making sure we were at least a football field away from the car in order to avoid any Hollywood-action-movie-cars-go-boom scenes, we found a pretty good spot. There were random trash objects that I could aim at and was otherwise mostly dirt, which was necessary seeing as how my aim was pretty random and I didn't want to risk blowing up something other than trash or dirt.

"Okay, small warning," I began. "Dynamite couldn't blow up organic matter, you know, living things."

"I know what organic means," Warren said dryly.

"Well, I didn't, nerd boy, so thanks for the science lesson," Tara commented, rolling her eyes at Warren.

I quickly cut off any reply Warren might have made, especially after being called nerd boy. "However, when Josh had my powers the other night, he had no control and stuff was kind of exploding all around us, including a tree. But I don't know if that was my power or something from him, some leftover remnant of another's power."

"So…you're saying, what, you think you can blow up plants and stuff?" Tara asked.

"She's trying to warn you that she might blow _you_ up," Warren clarified, taking a little too much enjoyment from doing so.

"Oh," Tara said, looking just the tiniest bit worried over this new development in my training. "Fantastic."

"But I'm not sure," I said quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity, now that it was being offered. "It might not have been my power at all, and you could be perfectly fine."

"Or you could lose a leg," Warren added, now not even bothering to hide his grin, as he began backing up, retreating to lean against the Camry and hopefully be out of emotional range.

As it turned out, Tara's power was absolutely perfect for my training exercises. Sure, the first time around, I blew a two-foot crater in the dirt right next to her (I was aiming for a dirt hill twenty feet to her right) and exploded a little shrub that had been there into itsy-bitsy pieces, but every time after that, as soon as she saw my hands flex, she jumped in the air, as high as she could. So, in actuality, we both got to train.

Emotions-wise, Tara made a good subject to borrow from. In general, her emotions seemed to be positive and energetic, without being intense like an elementals. Lighter emotions seemed to be easier to intake and focus, much, _much_ easier than the panic, pain, and anger of That Day, and easier to deal with than the rage I'd sensed from Warren on the day of the cafeteria fight with Will.

"Hold up for a bit," I said, when Tara was starting to look a little winded. We both kind of relaxed for a minute, me with my shields firmly in place and her not tensed and ready to jump as high as she could.

"How's it going?" she asked.

I kind of grinned and shrugged. "Getting better. I'm trying to hit that beer can over there," I said, pointing to a solitary can standing upright about fifteen feet away.

"Huh. I really like how you've landscaped those ten craters all around it," Tara complimented sarcastically.

"See that crater, right in front of it? That was my last one. One of these times, I'm gonna get it." I tried to sound as self-assured as possible, which was difficult since the can hadn't even toppled over yet, but I refused to give up hope. Warren and Tara had gone through a lot to present me with this training opportunity (including spending time alone together, which they'd both survived, an amazing feat all by itself), and I was going to hit _something_ that I'd actually aimed at before we were done.

"Okay, you've got that determined look in your eye. I think our break is over," Tara said a little warily.

"You're sure?" I asked, not wanting to rush her, seeing as how it turned out I could blow up organic matter. I really didn't want to be responsible for her losing a limb.

"Quick, before you lose that focus and determination," she urged, her knees already bent and ready to go.

I nodded. I made eye contact with her right before I let the mental shields down. Then I quick focused my gaze on the beer can and focused the emo-energies through my hands. Tara jumped a half second before my hands opened and the beer can exploded into a hundred tiny aluminum shards.

"YES!!!" I yelled, putting both hands up, thrilled that I'd finally blown the beer can to smithereens. Tara landed next to me. "Did you see that?!" I asked her excitedly, pointing at the spot where the can had been.

"You did it," Tara said, doing a few excited little bounces.

"I think it helped to focus on your emo-energies, rather than just letting them come in when the shields were down. I want to try again, okay? That Styrofoam food container over there. Ready?" I asked, trying to keep my own so-excited-I'm-bouncing-in-place-but-not-like-Tara-power-bouncing to a minimum

"Okay."

I focused on Tara, letting my shields down a bit and quickly identifying the excited emotions coming from her. I isolated them a bit, focusing on just that excitement, feeling it merge with my own exhilaration, keeping my fists closed, feeling the emo-energies building up, feeling them being contained and controlled, waiting to be released. I flexed my closed fists just a bit, giving Tara enough warning for her to go skyward before I focused everything on that Styrofoam.

The resulting blast completely destroyed the food container, along with the five feet of land around it, and threw me backwards.

I landed on my back, slightly winded, but laughing with the thrill of having finally achieved some measure of control. I could see Warren from where I'd landed, and though he'd started forward when he'd seen my feet leave the ground, he stopped when he'd heard me laughing. I continued to smile and waved him back, letting him know I was alright. He shook his head in fake-disgust at the oddity that was me.

Sitting up, I grinned at Tara, who was looking at the new crater with an impressed and slightly wary look on her face. I had a feeling she was remembering all the damage that the Conway Kid had caused out in California, including blowing up large sections of buildings. When I'd been having trouble blowing up a beer can, it had been easy to forget what my power had done on That Day. Now, seeing the rather large new crater, it made it a bit easier to connect the here and now with the there and then.

"Heh…good job." Her congratulations seemed more cautious than jubilant.

Even knowing that this was probably a little overwhelming for her, I couldn't keep my excitement contained. I was feeling some major triumph here, and felt like testing my control a little bit.

An idea formed in my mind. I was an idiot for even considering it, but my last two attempts had been so successful. And maybe if I aimed at something further away from me, any repercussions might not be so bad. I jumped up and dusted myself off, though I didn't do a very thorough job of it, considering the fact that I'd probably be thrown back down again after this next attempt.

I picked my target, a cardboard box about fifty feet away from Tara and me. "I'm aiming for that box out there. This time, instead of just jumping straight up, you might want to try jumping as far away from me, that box, and Warren as you can," I warned, pointing in a direction away from us all.

"What are you thinking," Tara asked, apprehension tingeing her voice.

"I just want to try something."

"These are famous last words, like when guys finish a can of beer and tell their buddies to 'watch this,'" Tara predicted, running her hand over her eyes quickly before going into prep mode for her biggest jump yet.

I grinned at that image; it really wasn't unlike what I was about to do, overly cocky, not from beer but from my last two successes.

Keeping my shields firmly in place, I closed my eyes and sensed the area around me. I immediately identified Tara's worry and trepidation, and moved on, searching for my intended emo-energy source. Then I felt it, shades of amusement and the same feeling of success that I'd had. Warren.

I tried to prepare myself before I let the shields down. One of the things I'd need to do would be to block out Tara's emotions. I knew hers were slightly negative at the moment and would be hard to merge with mine and Warren's in order to focus them into the explosion. Also, I had to prepare for the intense, concentrated emo-energy that would be coming from a fire elemental. Just sensing the shades of those emotions through my shields was a bit staggering. When I actually let those shields down…

This was going to be big. And probably stupid. But here went nothing.

I opened my eyes, keeping my senses on the shielded emotions I'd identified from Warren while I positioned my body at an angle between the box and Warren, ready to switch my empath and explosion focuses between the two. Tara positioned herself to jump far away from the lot of us.

Taking a deep, energy focusing breath, I let the shields down, bracing myself to funnel all those incoming positive-amused-success-from-a-fire-elemental emotions into my explosion power, keeping it reigned in until _I_ was ready to release it.

I felt all those energies come in. The impact was incredible, but not overwhelming as I aligned his strong emotions with mine. I continued to take deep breaths as I focused those energies into my explosion power but didn't release them yet. I threw the shields back up a half-second before he realized what I was doing and his emotions became more related to Tara's than mine.

And still I didn't release the emo-energies. I kept my fists clenched, the escape channel for the explosion power closed off. I could feel all that power, all that energy contained within me. Tara, seeing my near-stagger at the intake of Warren's emotions, jumped as high and far as she could, landing about as far away from me as the box was.

It was like a drug, intense and amazing. It made me feel invincible, having all that power held within me. Knowing that I was actually in control of it all. I wanted to keep it forever, to hold onto that feeling.

But I didn't want to lose the control either, which meant it was time to get rid of it. Focusing on the box, I pushed all those emotions into the explosion, and then released it. _Boom!_ The box was dust and I could tell the impact crater was going to be crazy big, as soon as all the dust from the explosion settled.

I flew further than Tara, ending up on my back somewhere between her and Warren after skidding to stop. As beat up as I'd felt yesterday, I really shouldn't have been so thrilled to add more bruises to my bruises. But really, at that moment, in my exhilaration, there was no room for physical pain.

Laying on my back, I remembered that feeling, all that power, that intense energy, containing all that within me. I savored the memory. Good Lord, if that was even part of the power allure that my parents had felt, I suddenly gained a small insight into their villainous mindset. The idea of being unlimited with that power, of being outside, above the control of humans and law. Wow.

I continued to lay there and didn't notice Warren until he almost ran me over in his haste, kicking dust onto me.

"Tyler!" He must have been yelling my name, but I hadn't heard him until he was right next to me.

"Wow."

Warren landed on his knees next to me and I grinned up at him. He shook his head, a grin overcoming the worry once he'd seen that I was alright. "You idiot."

Tara came bouncing over, standing above the two of us.

"That was AMAZING!" I said, as Warren helped me sit up and Tara held out a hand to help me stand.

"I think we're done for the day. The whole purpose of this was for you to practice intaking _Tara's_ emotions," Warren reminded me as we started walking towards the car. Well, he walked, Tara kind of bounced along, and I limped.

I think Warren paused a bit for Tara to join in on the lecture, but Tara was quiet, seeming lost in whatever she was thinking. Warren continued, "Of all the stupid things to try. You could have blown us all up!"

I couldn't stop grinning. "But did you see that? Not only was I able to control the emotions I got from you, but I held them. I controlled the release, not just the aim!"

Warren rolled his eyes, giving up on the idea of lecturing me, and instead joined in celebrating my success with me. "Oh, I definitely saw, alright. Soon as I realized what the hell you were doing."

"I know, accessing your emotions wasn't supposed to be part of the practice today, but I'd been doing so well, I just wanted to try it."

Warren managed to congratulate and reprimand me at the same time. "Yeah, you'd done great on the TWO hits you achieved before deciding to test an elementals emotions."

"You have no idea how great it was to take those in though. Intense elemental emotions. And me, controlling it all." I sighed and savored the memory again.

Yesterday seemed so far away. It had been an emotional roller coaster: the anxious, sleepless night of waiting for Josh to reveal me as the Conway Kid, keeping everything a secret from Warren, the confrontations with Josh in the hallway and the bathroom during the school day, lunch with Tara and Warren, Dr. Day's testimony for Dynamite's defense, the giddiness of picking out a dress for Homecoming, Warren posing as my date for all of Aunt Paige's pictures, actually being Josh's date for the dance, the emotional onslaught from the beginning of the Royal Pain attack, being locked in the janitor's closet, having a moment with Warren, and last of all, but so far from least, the never-ending guilt from keeping quiet about Josh's role in the plot.

It had all been yesterday. But today, here and now, I felt removed from all of that. My triumph seemed to outweigh everything else. In addition to that feeling, not only did Tara know the truth about who I was, but Warren knew how I'd ended up as Josh's date. Neither of them knew the whole truth, of course, and I still felt that guilt, but it wasn't that same overwhelming, drowning guilt.

Someday, I was going to come clean about it all, and Josh was going to receive the punishment he deserved. It might not happen today or tomorrow, but it would happen all the same. I wouldn't keep quiet forever. I was still too afraid of losing everything to tell the truth right now, but someday, I'd feel secure enough to tell the truth.

Looking at Warren and Tara as we neared the car, that day of security seemed to be coming on faster than I'd thought it would. I couldn't keep from grinning.

"Heartbreaker," Tara said as we got into the car to head back to Maxville.

"Hmm?" I asked, caught up in my own thoughts and not really having heard her random comment.

"Empathy and explosion. You're Heartbreaker."

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Author's note: This chapter, with all the interaction between the three, was fun to write. Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 22: superchick09, Agrabah's Princess, Nelle07, summerlover1, ProcrastinatingPyro09, Lt. Commander Richie, pinga, Nival Vixen, rootbeergirl19, Tigger101, CMHValex, equinelover101, Waive, Rayvin813, Fyre of the Funeral Pyre, Mandi96, Sheiado, Hysteria and Chaos, InTheDeppEnd, Tinuel, Hatsue Cybanne, …


	24. Let’s Play Pretend, Let’s Act Like

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-four – Let's Play Pretend, Let's Act Like It Comes Naturally**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

Author's Note: grin Coming up with names to match powers has been one of the best parts of writing this story so far.

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_There's a strange awareness within the dream. Even as I'm having it, I _know_ it's a dream; this awareness seems to remove me from the events of the dream. While I know it's a dream, I also know it really happened, and it happened to me. But it's like watching an episode of a TV show. That's me, the main character, the little kid. Jenny. But I'm watching it all. _

_Jenny's ten. The lady picked her up from school. It looks like Mom. Smells like Mom. Drives Mom's car. Smiles like Mom as the woman asks how many first graders Jenny tortured that day. It's definitely a question Mom's asked before. Ten-year-old Jenny suspects nothing. I want to yell at the stupid kid, drag the idiot girl out of the car by her braid. Smack the ten-year-old and ask how she can be so stupid as to actually believe this woman is Mom._

_Ten-year-old Jenny looks at Fake Mom, grins, and lies. Gives Fake Mom a fake number of two. During lunch recess. Stole their lunch money. Fake Mom doesn't feel Jenny's stomach clench in hunger, doesn't hear the rumble, doesn't know the girl actually shared her lunch with two kids who'd been bullied out of their lunch money. Fake Mom doesn't ask for the money._

_It's the first hint the girl's had that something is wrong. Usually, Mom wants to have the money, to put in a special look-how-proud-we-are-of-your-bullying-skills piggy bank. Usually, Jenny has to go a couple of days without lunch, saving her lunch money, in order to give Mom the "stolen" first graders' lunch money._

_Fake Mom just smiles and keeps driving._

_The girl's sixth sense – paranoia – is tingling. She looks around, takes in the setting. Mom's purse is sitting on the floor of the passenger seat, just where she always puts it when she picks up Jenny from school. Music is playing, an old Madonna song "Who's That Girl." There's a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder._

_Fake Mom's drinking Dr. Pepper. Mom drinks Diet Dr. Pepper._

_Just a little detail. A small mistake. Jenny might even have been able to dismiss it, if she hadn't looked down at her seat._

_Last year, Jenny had found a stray kitten outside the school while waiting for Mom to pick her up. It was tiny, somewhat scraggly, orange. Cute. She'd known her parents would never have let her keep it. _If_ they found out she had it. Jenny put the kitten in her backpack, leaving the zippers separated a little bit to give the kitten some light and air. The kitten had freaked out when the car started moving and escaped from the bag, putting a small scratch in the leather of the passenger seat. At the first red light, Mom had grabbed the kitten and thrown it out the window. After breaking its neck. She didn't say a word._

_Jenny never again tried to bring a stray animal home._

_Mom had left the scratch in the leather. Jenny had known it was a silent reminder from Mom about what happened when Jenny tried to play Hero._

_The scratch was gone. _

_This was the same BMW model as Mom's car. Same color, same interior, same everything. Different car. Wrong car._

_Wrong Mom. Fake Mom. Not Mom._

_Jenny controlled her breathing. That was the first step. Don't let them know anything's wrong by panicking. Keep breathing evenly, don't let them know that you know that something is wrong. _

_The Wrong Car stopped at a red light. Jenny reached for the door handle, quiet, slowly. Sneaking. _

_The car door wouldn't open. Jenny slid a sideways glance at Fake Mom. Fake Mom was smiling at her. Mom's face. Mom's mouth. Mom's lips. Mom's teeth. Not Mom's smile._

_Not Mom._

_Fake Mom knew that Jenny knew that Fake Mom was Not Mom._

_Jenny gave up sneaking, stealth. Grabbed for Mom's purse. Mom didn't keep lipstick in her purse, she kept small weapons, tools._

_The purse was empty. A copy of Mom's purse. Not Mom's._

"_Don't worry, Jenny-love. I'm sure you'll come through this just fine."_

_Mom's nickname for Jenny. How would Fake Mom know that?_

_Fake Mom continued to give her fake reassurance. "As soon as your parents agree to hand over what they stole from me, you go home, unharmed."_

_Great. A kidnapping. As soon as Jenny had processed that realization, her father's voice invaded her head. Disgusted. Angry. Disappointed. Kind of echoing off the cement wall's of Leech's basement. "I had to take an afternoon off in order to rescue you. You're seven now. You need to start learning how to take care of yourself. If you can't save yourself, you're not worth saving. Remember that."_

_If Jenny was worth saving, she'd have to save herself. Her dad wouldn't come to rescue her from this kidnapping like he had last time. She needed to prove to her parents that she was worth something by saving herself._

_Jenny didn't have a power yet. She'd have to use her wits and what she'd learned in karate over the last two and a half years._

_Fake Mom looked like Mom, sounded like Mom, smelled like Mom, drove a car like Mom's, had a purse like Mom's, called Jenny by her mom's nickname. A metamorph then. A metamorph who knew to call her Jenny-love. A metamorph who knew Mom. A metamorph with something worth stealing. Masquerade. _

_Jenny didn't realize she'd spoken the name aloud until Fake Mom said, "That's right. Your parents said you were a smart kid. Looks like they were right."_

_Crap. If Jenny wanted to get out of this on her own, she needed Masquerade to underestimate her. Letting Masquerade know she was smart was probably not the best way to go about achieving that goal._

_Time to get Masquerade to think of her as a little girl. Not smart. Scared. Helpless. Weak. Jenny forced out a tear, made a show of trying to hide the fact that she was wiping it away. Appear weak while trying to look strong. _

"_Jenny-love, really, don't worry. Your parents are going to give back my computer chip, and then we'll let you go."_

_Masquerade had said "we." Jenny filed that information away for later. _

_Jenny looked out the window and asked, "Can you change back, please? And not call me Jenny-love? Only my mom calls me that." Wipe away another tear._

_There was an odd sliding of skin sound, a so-not-natural sound. It made goosebumps stand up on Jenny's arm. She looked at Masquerade. And saw Masquerade, not Mom, wearing Mom's clothing._

"_Where are we going?" Jenny asked. Voice trembled. Good._

"_Somewhere your parents can't find us. That would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?"_

"_Can you not put me in a basement?"_

"_Basement?" Masquerade is confused._

_Little-girl-Jenny looked down. Nodded. "Last time I got kidnapped. Leech. He kept me in the basement. There were spiders."_

"_My house doesn't have a basement."_

"_Thank you," Little-girl-Jenny said. A house. Good. One house usually meant more houses. Help. A phone._

_Jenny didn't talk again for the rest of the car ride. She remembered to wipe away a tear every once in awhile. Crying girls weren't thinking of escapes. Crying girls were waiting to be rescued. She'd cried when she was seven. After that boy had come down the stairs, showed her the key to the cuff that chained her wrist to the wall, and then left. With the key. Stupid Josh._

_The car entered a residential neighborhood. Jenny made mental notes of the street signs, never sure which one they were going to stop on. She pretended to cry over her fate as she surreptitiously looked out the window, memorizing land marks._

_They stopped at 313 Nottingham Drive. Masquerade ushered Jenny inside. There were no blindfolds, no hands tied behind the back, no gags. To the rest of the world, they just looked like a mother and daughter arriving home from school._

_Masquerade had made no attempt to hide where she lived, to hide the destination, to hide her plan or her reasons. She introduced Jenny to her sons, both around the same age as Jenny. Neither boy spared Jenny a second glance, both wrapped up in something that was being discussed in the kitchen. There were three other guys there, older, maybe her parents' age._

_Jenny wondered why Masquerade didn't worry about what Jenny would be able to tell the police. Either they planned to kill Jenny when this was all over, or this was a dispute between two villain groups that would be settled by villains' rules, not human law._

_Masquerade brought Jenny up to the attic. Smiled and said "Much better than a basement, isn't it?"_

_Jenny gave a sad little-girl-Jenny smile and nodded. Such an accommodating kidnapper. Masquerade left, locking the door behind her. Presumably to go downstairs and arrange the trade with Mom and Dad._

_Mom and Dad. They were going to be so mad._

_She began looking around the room, looking for a way to escape. Masquerade had obviously not been worried about the windows in the attic; the windows _were_ three stories up. It would be daunting and impossible for little-girl-Jenny. Real Jenny immediately went to open one of the windows._

_It squeaked something awful as she pushed it up. Jenny held her breath, waiting for someone to come check on the noise, to catch her trying to escape. Being _caught_ trying to escape was much worse than trying to escape. If they caught her now, they would be sure not to underestimate her again. She couldn't get caught._

_Her brain ran through ten different lies in the seconds after opening the window, as Jenny held her breath, waiting for someone to come stomping angrily up the attic steps._

_No one appeared. No one heard. Jenny poked her head out the window. Looked down. Far down. Tried not to gulp. _

_Forget down. _

_She looked left and right. The window was right at the beginning of the roof. Which meant that if she was super careful, she could step out the window to the side and be on the roof._

_Jenny wished Mom was Cat Lady rather than Dynamite. Or a descendent of Spider-man. That'd be useful too right about now._

_She wasn't sure what going on the roof would do for her, but it was better than sitting in the attic, playing with dolls, and waiting to be rescued._

_If she couldn't save herself, she wasn't worth saving._

_She stepped onto the roof, holding onto the window's gable for balance as she tippy-toed on the gutter, and tried to find her footing on the roof's shingles. Okay, the gutter had to go somewhere. Edging along the roof, she tried not to stand on the gutter too much. She didn't trust it to hold her weight, and she needed all the strength it had for when she slid down the drainpipe._

_Feet touching solid ground. It was the best feeling in the world. Time to get help, find a phone. _

_Jenny didn't know what Masquerade's immediate neighbors were like. Mom and Dad had always said that you needed minions loyal to you on either side of your house. The last thing they wanted to worry about was a nosy non-Super neighbor seeing something they shouldn't._

_To be on the safe side, Jenny went to a completely different street before banging on a door. A Mom-Type answered the door. Apron on. Flour on her cheek. A toddler tugging on her skirts. Jenny's shirt had snagged and ripped on one of the pieces that attached the drainpipe to the house. Her face had been scraped when she'd slid down it._

_When she'd rescued herself._

If you can't save yourself, you're not worth saving. Heartthrob's words echoed in my head as I woke up. My parents had been thrilled that day; not only had I proven my worth by escaping without needing a rescue mission, but since the police had gotten involved, there was an arrest and a trial and Masquerade had been sent away to Kryptonite Creek.

There was only one thing that disappointed my parents – Masquerade had taken me to her house, rather than to her secret lair. And I hadn't been thoughtful enough to find out where that lair was before I escaped. A mistake I made sure not to repeat the third time I was kidnapped.

It was Sunday and I had nowhere I needed to be. I stretched on my fold-out bed, remembering the dream, analyzing why my brain had felt the need to remind me of that day. I hadn't had that dream or thought about that second kidnapping for a long time.

I guessed that Friday had triggered the dream. Having to be rescued by Stronghold of all people.

It was proving difficult to erase Heartthrob's voice from my head. I wasn't ten anymore. I _knew_ that I was worth something, even if I did have to be rescued. Everyone needed help at some point. If there was one thing that I had learned from my Sidekick courses, it was that no one person was infallible. The strongest people were the ones who used others' strengths to balance their weaknesses.

I'd been able to put a hole in the door. I hadn't been able to remove the door, but I'd been able to do that much. It wasn't a bad thing to have a needed Will's strength to actually pull the door away.

I was watching my first season DVD of _Veronica Mars_ when Aunt Paige got home from the hospital that evening. Having been kind of lying in wait for her to get home, I barely gave her time to put her purse down before I pounced.

We hadn't had a chance to talk on Saturday, not the kind of sit-down-and-talk-about-life kind of talking that I'd wanted to do.

"Hey Aunt Paige, I made chicken and rice earlier. Saved you a plate. Want me to heat it up for you?" I asked as she toed off her shoes.

"That would be great, dear," she said, sitting down in a chair at the dining room/kitchen table. All the air seemed to come out of her at once, one long, big, tired sigh.

"Long day?" I asked, popping a plate of food into the microwave.

"Some day, should I ever decide to take a vacation, it's going to be so easy to find people to cover my shift. After all the doubles I've been pulling recently, there're a lot of people who owe me time and favors."

I grinned at her, sitting down in the chair opposite from her. I wanted to talk to her, but I wasn't sure where to start.

It had been so easy to spend time with her when I'd first moved to Maxville. Back then, it had been about hanging out, getting to know each other. And because she was unpowered, there hadn't been any pressure to talk about that life, to worry about using or developing or having someone find out about my powers. Something had changed, and I had a feeling it was me. Before, I'd enjoyed the fact that nothing we did had anything to do with being Super. Now, I was realizing that everything I'd wanted to talk to her about had to do with that part of my life.

I wanted to tell her about the Homecoming fiasco, but I'd never discussed my power problems with her, so she wouldn't understand how Josh had ended up blackmailing me and she wouldn't understand just how excited I was at blowing a hand-sized hole in the door. Aunt Paige had been shunned and disowned by her own sister because she was unpowered; it certainly wouldn't do to talk to Aunt Paige about how I'd had a momentary understanding of my parents' villainous mindset and feelings of power.

I wanted to talk to Aunt Paige about something I'd been worrying over since my conversation with Josh on Friday night. We'd talked about Royal Pain's plan and how, obviously, it wasn't going to work too well. I wanted to confess just how automatically my parents' way of thinking had been for me. That I'd quoted my father about which kind of evil plots don't work. That I was kind of afraid that fourteen years of influence was going to prove too hard to overcome. It wasn't even just the conversation with Josh that had me worried. I saw other things through a villain's eyes. Like the kids with powers that Sky High deemed Sidekick-worthy. When I thought about these powers, I immediately saw a use for them in some evil plan. Like that freshman girl who could morph into a bouncy ball. I saw absolutely no use for that power in any kind of a rescue or hero-worthy escapade, but in a villain's operation, there were a couple of things she'd be good for, like using her as a spy, having her infiltrate a Hero or politician's household, sending her as a present for their child.

How dark was I becoming that the person who'd best understood my thinking lately was Josh? Maybe Warren was who I really needed to talk to. Maybe he'd experienced some of these same things. I mean, sure, his mom's this great Hero, but maybe he'd struggled with some of these same influences from his villain father.

Which reminded me of the one thing we could talk about – Warren. I wanted to explain our non-date situation, but I wasn't sure how to do that and fulfill my girl-with-a-crush urge to ask her for a copy of one of the pictures she'd taken.

Just when I'd finally finished working this all out in my mind, the microwave dinged. I got Aunt Paige's food and a fork, setting them down in front of her before grabbing two Cokes from the fridge.

"Okay, Aunt Paige, so you know how Warren picked me up for the dance?"

Aunt Paige nodded, a little too gleefully, and quickly swallowed her first bite of food. "Geneva and I went to the photo place yesterday and printed out some of the pictures. Bought frames and everything. There's one on my dresser," she said, matter-of-factly. "My favorite one is where you two are looking at each other and just kind of laughing, smiling. Like you two have a secret. Like you're the only two people around. I'm thinking of having it made into an 8x10 for the living room."

All those giddy emotions that had begun to bubble up when she'd described her favorite picture were quickly squelched. "Uh, Aunt Paige…"

"Geneva's favorite is one where you two are looking at the camera and you're both actually managing to convey sarcasm through the photo. Go figure. She's already ordered a larger print of it her for apartment."

Oh good grief. I wondered how Warren was handling this on his end. Hopefully, he was deciding on an honesty-is-the-best-policy approach, since that was what I was about to do. But we had talked about it on the way to the bus stop that night and the only reason he hadn't said anything to Aunt Paige was the lack of time. Right? _Was_ that the only reason he hadn't explained everything to her?

Okay, calm the second-guessing-giddy-school-girl-inside-me down. Truth time.

"Aunt Paige, we weren't really on a date."

"Well, I know it was just a school dance, and I hope that I'm going to be around when he takes you on your first official date. Actually, just let me know when, I'll get someone to cover my shift and I'll be here, official date photographer," she said, quickly solving her own problem.

"There won't be an official first date, Aunt Paige," I said. When she looked like she was about to protest, I quickly cut her off, "He wasn't even my date for Homecoming. We were just walking to the bus stop together. He was kind of helping me avoid this other guy from school. And he actually did have a date."

Aunt Paige was looking at me suspiciously. "Geneva never mentioned that he had another date."

"Not another date, Aunt Paige. His actual date. Well, I mean, it wasn't like a REAL date, he was only going with Layla to make Stronghold jealous, which I think actually makes him Cupid, but he doesn't see it that way, he was just looking for a way to get in a dig at Stronghold, but I think the fact that he did indeed help bring them together speaks way louder than what he might have intended."

Now Aunt Paige just looked confused, as she continued to eat her food, processing everything I had just dumped on her. "What? Wait, so he didn't actually have a real date?"

Out of that long explanation, _that_ was what she was retaining? "Well, kind of. But kind of not. Because it was a date. I mean, even when he found out that Stronghold wasn't going to go, because believe it or not, Warren actually sat down and had a conversation with Will Stronghold of all people, and now I think they might actually be some weird sort of friends, but whatever, he sat down and talked to the boy-wonder and told him that he was just going with Layla to make Stronghold jealous, and then he told_ Layla_ that he'd told Stronghold about their Cupid plan, but he still went to the dance with her, since it wasn't like he could just leave a girl hanging like that on the day of the dance."

Again, Aunt Paige heard what she chose to hear. "So it was even further from a real date – it was a pity date!" She looked a little too triumphant, having come to this realization.

"I think I'd rather call it a chivalry date; it sounds a little nicer than pity date. Which sounds kind of sad, even though I doubt Layla cares what it's called, since she ended the night making out with Stronghold."

"Ah hah! Warren's pity date ditched him for another guy. Just wait till I tell Geneva."

I buried my face in my hands, giving up.

Aunt Paige brought her plate to the sink, having managed to eat most of her dinner during my long winded explanations. She headed towards the hallway, patting me on the shoulder as she passed. "Don't worry, Nevaeh. Geneva and I will get you two on a real date one of these days, just you wait."

Apparently, for Aunt Paige, that was the end of that, as she went to get ready for bed. I headed to the living room, feeling rather exhausted all of a sudden, and ready to crawl into bed myself.

When I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, there was a new framed 4x6 photo on the hall wall. Warren and I, grinning at the camera in our Homecoming formal wear.

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Author's note: Wow, that chapter was a long time coming. Somewhat good news for those of you who have been hanging in there, waiting for updates: Chapter 25 is already partly written. I'll hopefully get around to finishing it within the next couple of weeks. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: Readerfreak10, brokenwriter, Lt. Commander Richie, classicreviewer, …, Lizzyviolet, Nelle07, equinelover101, Tinuel, ProcrastinatingPyro09, Mandi96, Angelnanoo, Fyre of the Funeral Pyre, CMHValex, Waive, LIGHT -of- FANTASY, pinga, jadefire305, Chia89, Rycr, Pamie884, DrunknMonkey, Rayvin813, and crackedmind.

Except for the first two, all the chapter titles have been lyrics from songs. I've been meaning to post a list of them all for a long time, only by the time I actually get a chapter finished, I just want to post it and not take the extra time necessary to write this all down. However, since I clearly do not own the lyrics, this is something I feel I need to do.

Chapter 3: "I'm Limited" – For Good from _Wicked the Musical_

Chapter 4: "The Cross that I'm Bearing" – Deliver Me by Sarah Brightman

Chapter 5: "Heaven Help Me For the Way I Am" – Criminal by Fiona Apple

Chapter 6: "Never Meant to Be So Cold" – Cold by Crossfade

Chapter 7: "Still Just a Rat in a Cage" – Bullet With Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

Chapter 8: "Never One to Trust" – Black-Eyed by Placebo

Chapter 9: "To Make Up Your Own Ending" – Blurry by Puddle of Mudd

Chapter 10: "Can't You See Through This Disguise" – All Fall Down by SR 71

Chapter 11: "Saw Your Face Before it Changed" – Running for Home by Matthew Good Band

Chapter 12: "See the Devil on the Doorstep" – We Are by Ana Johnson

Chapter 13: "The Price You Pay to Play the Game" – Price to Play by Staind

Chapter 14: "Burn it All Down as My Anger Reigns" – Everything Burns by Ben Moody

Chapter 15: "Never Thought You'd Be So Easily Deceived" – Noots by Sum 41

Chapter 16: "Give Up, Give In, Check the Grin" – I Won't Say I'm In Love from _Hercules_

Chapter 17: "How it Makes You a Weapon" – Weapon by Matthew Good Band

Chapter 18: "Can I Be Made Whole Again" – Whole Again by Jennifer Knapp

Chapter 19: "Played the Fool Today" – Breathe by Greenwheel

Chapter 20: "Uh Oh, I Think I Messed Up Again" – Undo Me by Jennifer Knapp

Chapter 21: "This Sad Exchange Pleased Neither One of Us" – Sad Exchange by Finger Eleven

Chapter 22: "Where Can You Run to Escape From Yourself" – Dare You to Move by Switchfoot

Chapter 23: "Yesterday Left My Head Kicked In" – Learning to Breathe by Switchfoot

Chapter 24: "Let's Play Pretend, Let's Act Like It Comes Naturally" – Family Potrait by Pink

From now on, I'll post the song that the chapter title comes from in a beginning author's note.


	25. I’m a Lost Cause, Not a Hero

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-five – I'm a Lost Cause, Not a Hero**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

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Warren was waiting for me outside my apartment building in the morning, ready to walk to the bus stop. He nodded at me in lieu of an actual greeting as we headed off.

Although neither of us was a morning person (a nod was about as much as we could muster up, energy-wise before 9 am), I felt the need to break our unspoken agreement to not talk. He deserved a heads-up about what was probably going to be waiting for him at home that night.

"So I told Aunt Paige the truth about our non-date status for Homecoming," I said.

He managed a "Huh."

"And I know she's planning to tell your mom today. Thought you ought to know."

This time I got three whole words. "Already told her."

It would have been nice if he'd elaborated on that experience, but I wasn't going to hold my breath. I wondered if his explanation to his mom had been at all like my conversation with my Aunt Paige. Instead, I moved on to the actual problem. "Well, we might have a slight problem."

"How slight?"

Oooh, a question, an actual active attempt on his part to participate in our conversation. "Just, you know, a small issue. My aunt isn't all that convinced of our non-date status. It didn't seem to matter how I explained the Layla situation, she was determined to see it as you not having a date and me being your secret date or date-to-be, or I don't even know. She rather reminded me of a terrier with a sock. No use trying to get her to let go of her idea."

"I know what you mean," Warren said.

I waited for him to continue that thought (I just might get that elaboration I'd been wanting!), but he didn't say anything else. Which obviously, called for me to kind of prod him along. "Really?"

He nodded. "My mom wouldn't let go of the idea that it was a date for the two of us and Layla was just some kind of side thing."

"My aunt was the same way. Kept trying to convince me that Layla's part in the night was insignificant."

Warren had a wry half-smile on his face. "I'm not sure whether to be more concerned about her lack of distress over the idea that I would be dating two girls at once, or more freaked by how much interest she's showing in my love life."

Though his words made me want to do some kind of weird happy squiggle at the idea that I was part of this love life, I shoved down my urge to do the dance of joy, saving it for a later time. When I was alone. And could be a giddy school girl with no one else the wiser. Right now, I needed to ask him about the second part of the problem. "Did your mom mention the pictures?"

"You mean the ones she got developed with Paige yesterday? One of which she's ordered an 8x10 copy? Those pictures?"

I winced a little bit. "Those would be the ones. Aunt Paige hung up a 4x6 in the hallway last night after I went to bed."

We'd reached the bus stop, and now just had to wait for it to show. Warren reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and opened it before handing it to me. "Found my wallet on the kitchen counter this morning." I looked down, and there was a wallet size version of the picture currently hanging in the hallway. When I told him this, we both just kind of looked at each other, and neither of us could hide our grins.

"They're determined, you have to give them that," Warren conceded.

"Oh, it's going to get better. Aunt Paige is already planning to have someone cover her shift so she can take more photos of us on our first official date. I see more of those oh-look-Geneva's-here-and-gee-Warren-too moments ahead of us."

The bus pulled up and we stepped on, making our way to the back. Before the bus started moving and we entered our silent zone of motion sickness, Warren said, "As long as I get to pick the movie the next time we have an arranged date, I'm okay with that."

While I would have loved to psychoanalyze _that_ statement, instead I focused on keeping my stomach in its place and out of my throat.

Once we were at school, Warren got off the bus first, but waited for me on the school's sidewalk. This definitely seemed like a positive step in our friendship, and I was loathe to ruin that by bringing up sore subjects, but I really did need to talk to someone about this, and as last night had shown, this wasn't something I was comfortable talking about with Aunt Paige.

Last night, I'd thought up some possible conversation starters, topics that might gradually move into the issue of villains not being parents of the year, but now, in the light of day, actually walking towards the school building with Warren, those conversation starters seemed stupid and useless, and I decided to just jump into the topic. "Um, awkward question," I hedged, deciding to give him at least some kind of warning. "But I kind of need to talk to you, and I tried to talk to Aunt Paige, but it wasn't really something I could talk to her about, and I don't really have anyone else to talk to here, you know, besides Tara, but she wouldn't really understand, and this is not to say you're some kind of last resort as a person I would talk to, but it might not be the kind of thing you _like_ to talk about, so you might not want to talk about it, which is why I was hesitant to ask you about it…" I closed my mouth to cut off the ramblings. What happened to my direct approach idea??

"Am I ever going to find out what 'it' is?" Warren asked, an amused half-grin on his face. I took that as a good sign, that the hellish bus ride hadn't put him in an immediate grumpy mood.

Right, deep breath, start over. "How much influence did you dad have over you when you were younger?"

All expression immediately dropped from his face. It was like looking at a school picture of Warren, rather than walking next to and talking with a real person. "What do you mean?" Wow, no emotion in his voice, either. For being a fire elemental, his voice had a rather icy edge.

"Okay, that might not have come out the way I meant it. What I'm really trying to ask, or to get around to, is whether or not you worry that you'll become a villain one day. You know, because he was."

I could see Warren trying to visibly relax, trying to release the instant tension that the topic of his father immediately created. His voice was a little less glacial when he replied, "Everyone's always seemed to assume that."

I shook my head. "I don't care what other people think. I'm wondering if, you know, _you_ ever worry about it."

"Worry?"

I tried to clarify, since I really didn't see Warren as the type to fret over hypothetical futures. "The idea that we become our parents. Do you ever think that you might follow in your father's footsteps, become a villain one day?"

"My father may be a Villain, but if we're talking about becoming our parents, my mom's a Hero."

"You think you might be a Hero?" I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice, I really did, but apparently, I failed.

Warren slanted me a glance, and finally, a small, wry grin replaced the school-picture-emotionless Warren I had been talking to. "Is it really that hard to believe?"

"No! I mean, of course it isn't. Look at me – you've always been there for me, helping me out, trying to protect me, feeling guilty when you can't, even though it is so far from being your fault. But at the same time, you always seemed like the type who would roll your eyes at the stupidity of the damsel in distress in the dark alley and hope that the danger would teach her not to walk around in dark alleys and maybe call a cab next time. I know you're a hero. I guess I just never got the feeling that you wanted to be a Hero."

"I don't know if I want to be a Hero. I really don't do tights," he said, this time giving me a full out grin. "But I _do_ know that I don't want to be a Villain."

"Do you think it's that easy? You don't want to be one, so you won't?" He really did make it sound simple. Like, nope, no desire to be a villain, so poof, no chance.

"I don't mean for it to sound easy. For some people, doing the right thing, being a good person, might be difficult. It's not always supposed to be easy. But I do mean that it's my choice. My decision. I control who I want to be, who I am. And I don't want to be my father."

I thought about this for a second. I knew I didn't want to be like my parents. I'd never wanted that, even when I was little. I'd always recognized that as one of those differences between me and Villain's Kids like Josh – I would have handled the whole hostage-in-the-basement scenario very differently. Maybe my parents had always seen that too, maybe that was why I had never had any kind of alone-with-a-hostage situations growing up. But what if, even after growing up wanting to be different, I ended up not being so different from my parents?

"What's going on?" Warren asked, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I was thinking.

"Just thinking about what you said," I replied, shrugging. "When I was seven, Josh's dad, Leech, kidnapped me. Held me hostage in a basement. Josh came and talked to me one day. He had the key with him, but he wouldn't let me go. Back then, I thought that was weird. My parents had had hostages before, when I was little, and I used to daydream about freeing them. Even back then, I wanted to be a hero, not a villain. But then, the other day, I was talking with—someone, and I quoted my dad." I'd almost told him I'd been talking to Josh, but I didn't really want Warren thinking I was having any kind of conversations with Josh. It would lead to too many questions. "It was an automatic response, I didn't think about it before I said it. And when it comes to some kind of lame superpower, because let's face it, not to be mean or anything, but some of them _are_ kind of lame, I can see villainous uses for them, but no way to use it heroically. It's like, I want to be a hero, but my brain doesn't _think_ like a hero's brain. What if, no matter what I_ want_, I can't overcome 14 years of influence from my parents?"

We'd walked inside while we were talking, and had stopped just inside the doors, since this was where we had to go in separate directions. I had just finished this explanation, and was waiting for Warren to process and reply, when the bell rang. Lovely. Worst timing ever.

Warren held back whatever he might have said to my paranoid-I'm-gonna-be-a-villain rambling and instead asked, "Talk to you at lunch?"

I nodded. "Sure." Walking towards my locker, I did a mental fist pump. I was eating lunch with Warren. And it wasn't a hey-I'm-your-bodyguard lunch. It wasn't a saving-me-from-bullies lunch. Just an actual we're-friends-and-eating lunch. Maybe he'd have something to say about my fear of my parent's influence. Even if he didn't, I felt a little better just for having gotten it all out of my head for a moment. Getting some words of wisdom from Warren would be great, if he had them. If he didn't, it was still nice to have talked with him about these kinds of things.

I'm not sure what I'd expected to find changed at school on Monday, but I admit, I'd expected there would be _some_ changes. I mean, _sidekicks_ had saved the school. You'd think that would mean something to the administration, like maybe their hero-sidekick system was a little old-fashioned and outdated and in need of an upgrade to a more modern and p.c. deal. So yeah, I'd expected something to have changed on Monday.

Nothing had. Classes went on as normal, hero and sidekick. I heard a rumor later in the morning that the administration had tried to transfer Layla to hero classes, but she had refused to go, kind of like a one-person sit-in. Apparently, the administration had decided not to fight that battle and just left her in Sidekick class.

I passed Josh once in the hallway, between two of my morning classes. I saw him coming, and for an instant, contemplated turning the other way and not going to my locker at all, but I really did need a book in there for my next class, and I really did need to stop letting Josh dictate my actions. Especially since we'd come to a double-blackmail stand-off/agreement Friday night.

Josh grinned, clearly able to tell that I had contemplated turning tail and running. He gave me a half-second-eyebrow-raise smirk as we passed each other.

Oh yeah, this "deal" we had was going to end so well. I didn't even have to be psychic to realize that.

However, while nothing had changed in terms of the school's structure and divisive system, Sky High's social scene was undergoing some major upheavals, which became apparent in the cafeteria. There must be some kind of High School Bible that dictates that all social status promotions, demotions, and other changes must be established in the school lunchroom. Once Warren, Tara, and I were seated at the same lunch table we'd been at on Friday, I took a second to glace around the cafeteria to figure out what kind of changes had taken place over the weekend. Warren hadn't even quirked an eyebrow when Tara sat down with us. I figured that had to be the most shocking change (and I was about to realize just how wrong _that_ belief was).

"Who's that guy with Josh?" I asked Warren and Tara, eyeing my evil nemesis and his new friend. I guess Josh did have to find new friends, now that all of his old friends were in the juvie version of Kryptonite Creek. Well, except Stitches and Gwen Grayson, seeing as how they were all old and stuff.

"They're like cockroaches. You get rid of one, ten more crawl out of the woodwork to take its place," Zack said, coming up behind Warren. My eyes might have bugged out a little as I realized he was coming over to sit at our table.

"That's Kody Turner, better known around here as Deception. Remember his little brother, Scott? He was in power placement with us," Layla said, sitting down next to Warren.

Will sat on the other side of her, and Zack on the other side of him. Ethan sat down across from Will and Magenta sat down next to me and continued where Layla had left off. "Total suck up. Morphed to look like Coach Boomer. Oh wait, you left before that happened."

I was shocked into silence at this new development; Tara's sitting at our table paled in shock-value-comparison with _Stronghold_ sitting at our table. Great, being surrounded by Stronghold and the rest of the get-a-long gang…I've had this nightmare before.

Tara apparently could tell what I was thinking – she leaned around me to look at the new occupants of the table, looked at me, and pinched me. Guess I wasn't dreaming.

Immediately, I began looking for an escape route, trying to think up some excuse. Tara, again with the knowing what I was thinking, put her elbow on my arm and rested her chin in her hand, nodding at something Ethan was saying.

"If you leave now, it's going to look suspicious," Tara whispered without moving her mouth. I was impressed with her effort.

"Warren does it all the time," I countered, trying not to move my mouth and failing miserably. If we were trying to hide the fact that we were having a private conversation at a crowded lunch table, I was sabotaging the mission.

"One, Warren's sitting here now, being all social. Two, Warren could get away with that before, everyone knew he hated Stronghold and why. You pull a Warren, and you're gonna have people wondering why." Again, I couldn't even tell she was talking. She appeared completely enthralled by what the get-a-long gang was discussing.

Actually, once I'd stopped trying to escape and stopped talking to Tara, I realized they were discussing the senior heroes, which I did want to hear about.

"Who's the blonde girl? Why does she look kind of snarly?" I asked. They might have only been freshmen, but the Super community was fairly small, so one of them was bound to know.

"That's Cougar. She's a feral." Yup, could always count on Encyclopedia Ethan to know everything.

"What's a feral?" I asked, slightly confused.

"A feral is a Super with animal DNA. Cougar, obviously, is part cat. Think Sabretooth from the first X-Men movie. Only with better grooming," Encyclopedia Ethan informed me.

"Wait, they didn't teach freshmen Intro to Ferals at your old school?" Warren teased. I rolled my eyes at him.

"What school did you go to before transferring to Sky High?" Will asked politely.

Oh bother. There weren't that many Super Schools out there, and at that moment, my mind completely blanked on any other school I could offer. Which left the truth. Greeeeeeat. "Powers High School."

"Oh hey, Principal Powers' brother-in-law started that one, right? Is that how you got your scholarship?" Zack asked. The others kind of stared at him. Sure, everyone knew I was a scholarship student, but nobody actually brought it up in conversation.

Layla jumped in, trying to bypass the awkward moment. "That's in L.A., right? My cousins go to school out there. That's who my mom stayed with when she went to fight Dynamite and Heartthrob."

I was saved from having to form any kind of an answer when my water went down the wrong pipe and I was suddenly coughing up a lung. Layla had bypassed awkward, alright, and jumped right to Worst Possible Comment Ever.

Tara quickly spoke up, trying to turn the conversation back to its original topic. "The red head is Kelly. She was a nationally ranked gymnast before she got her powers. If she went to a normal school, she'd probably be on the gymnastics team or the cheerleading squad, but she can't do that here."

"Why not?" I asked, trying to follow Tara's conversation switch from PHS back to the Senior heroes.

"National School Sports Association rules. Any kind of superpower that could illegally aid you in a competition disqualifies you from sports. That's why Sky High doesn't have any actual sports teams. Just inner-school teams," Ethan said.

I nodded. "Makes sense, I guess. So what's her power?"

"Telekinesis. Developed during the Junior Nationals competition. She moved the balance beam to keep from falling off. It was on ESPN and everything. She's going to have a hard time with the secret identity issue," Layla said.

Inwardly, I cringed. I could identify with that. Outwardly, I couldn't let that understanding show, seeing as how I was still in secret-identity mode myself. I met Warren's eyes and could tell that he knew what I was thinking. Turning to Tara, I asked after the last unknown Senior hero sitting with Josh, "And the girl with the long black hair?"

"Lani. She's an electric. See the gloves? She can't touch other people without pretty much electrocuting them. I heard it was really bad when she first started here; she still doesn't have touch-control, but after four years of power development, she can now throw electric bolts when she's not wearing the gloves. Like Zeus. Not somebody you want to go up against in a game of Save the Citizen," Tara warned.

"Huh. Weird how I've never noticed them before," I commented.

Tara shrugged. "They're not really like Gwen and Penny and Lash and Speed. I mean, yeah, I guess they all hung out together, the senior heroes, but I think that may have been about all they had in common. With Gwen the student body president and Penny, Lash, and Speed being such obvious bullies, it was sometimes hard to remember that the others were even there. Cougar can be a pain, but for the most part, she doesn't go around harassing people like Speed and Lash did. And yeah, Kelly looks like one of those mean cheerleader bitch types they always type-cast on TV, but she's not that bad. Certainly not as bad as Penny. Lani's always kept to herself; probably has something to do with the fact that she could fry all your insides with an accidental touch. And Kody? Well, he's actually kind of nice. I got partnered with him once during Save the Citizen, and he didn't even get mad or anything about my sidekick power and that we were pretty much guaranteed to get our butts kicked."

"So this isn't going to turn into Rise of the Evil Senior Heroes, Part II?" I asked.

"Not likely," Tara assured me, nodding.

At this point, Ethan rejoined the conversation and it became a debate between him and Tara over the accuracy of the term "evil hero."

Having finished my lunch, I figured I'd let enough time pass that it was now socially appropriate to leave the lunch table without having it look like I'd left because of Stronghold's get-along-gang. Warren joined me in packing up his lunch. I looked at Tara, wondering is she was going to leave too, but she waved me off and continued her argument with Ethan.

"Tyler, come with me," Warren said as we were leaving the cafeteria and I was about to head to back to sophomore sidekick class.

"Um, okay," I agreed. He'd already started walking down the hall, so I hurried to get back into stride with him. "What's up?"

"I need something from my locker."

I tried to figure out how I tied into that, but failed to see the connection. However, my curiosity was getting the better of me, so I continued to follow Warren to his locker.

He twirled the combination and hit the locker to get it open. I always wondered if that worked in real life, or just on TV. I'd tried it once back in L.A., but had hurt my hand and my locker hadn't budged.

Pulling out a book, he handed it to me. I looked at the cover. The word Runaways was at the top and there was a drawing of six kids on the cover. "It's a comic book," I said. Okay, I sounded like an idiot, but I was really failing to see what this was all about.

"Actually, it's a graphic novel. Read it. I think you'll like the storyline."

"Uh huh," I said, somewhat disbelieving. I'd never read comic books before. My parents had banned them from our house, since they tended to detail heroic efforts and villainize the…well, the villains.

He continued to explain, "It's about six kids who discover their parents are supervillains."

Okay, so this is where the connection to me came in. At least now I understood.

"Ignore the fact that it's a comic book if that's what it takes. Instead, read the story."

"And this will help me with my hero-villain identity crisis?" I asked.

"No," he said, shrugging. "I just thought you'd like it."

"Oh," I replied, a little deflated. Even though I felt better just for having talked about my questions, I guess I'd still kind of been waiting for Warren's words of wisdom on the subject.

"Tyler, you don't _have_ a hero-villain identity crisis."

"Um, were you not part of the conversation we had earlier? 'Cause I could have sworn we talked about this just this morning."

"You don't have a crisis." When I gave Warren a dubious look, he continued, "You said you would think about trying to free your parents' hostages back when you were seven. You wanted to be a hero, even way back then. And today, your instinct or automatic response might be more aligned to your parent's way of thinking, but that doesn't mean it's right, and even more importantly, it doesn't mean that _you_ think it's right. The good thing is that you recognize this as being a problem. If you didn't recognize your parent's influence, then that influence would be dangerous. But you see it, you know it's there, and you work past it. Influence doesn't matter as much as you think it does, Tyler. It's about a choice. And you've made yours. Don't let yourself doubt that."

----------

Author's note: Whoo hoo! Finally, an update! I love Christmas vacation (does Numfar's Dance of Joy). Chapter title song lyrics are from Me Against the World by Simple Plan. Thanks to everyone who's stayed with the story through the long in-between-chapters waits, and those who reviewed the last chapter: Lt. Commander Richie, Waive, CMHValex, Tinuel, Readerfreak10, Nelle07, Kalacyn, xoon, Chia89, pinga, Luthien, lovestoread, Angelnanoo, CarlyJo, Phaedra, Nival Vixen, bookworm2011, sirenmergirl, MehGen, caleb'slover, jordy.girl, and Fun-SizedWitch.


	26. You're Playing With the Big Boys Now

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-six – You're Playing With the Big Boys Now**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

* * *

I spent my time after lunch mulling over what Warren had said. I wished I could have taken bits and pieces of it to help figure myself out. _Your instinct or automatic response might be more aligned to your parent's way of thinking, but that doesn't mean it's right, and even more importantly, it doesn't mean that _you_ think it's right._ Had he told me this last week, had I talked to him about this last week, maybe I would have had an easier time believing it. As far as he knew, it was true. The Nevaeh Tyler he knew _was_ that person, that good side of me. The parts of me that I wanted him to see.

Warren believed the best about me. _It's about a choice. And you've made yours._ He saw me as this superhero wannabe, someone who wanted to be good, and do good, and be completely different from her parents. And I did want that. Yes. Definitely yes. But that didn't change what I'd done.

What if he found out about the choice I'd made on Friday? If it was about choices and I'd made mine… Yup, that special hell for people-who-put-their-social-well-being-above-the-good-of-the-rest had a place reserved for me.

If it was about a choice, then I needed to make the right one. I needed to tell someone about what had really happened the night of Homecoming. And I would. Soon. Eventually. While I did want to be the person Warren saw in me, I also wanted to be the person Warren actually _saw_. Like, on a daily basis. Not someone who had to go back on the run, never to see Warren Peace again.

My thoughts were starting to drive me crazy. I couldn't handle any more thinking about all this. I needed a distraction. Like the book Warren had given me. Our current class was Sidekick color coordination. Right, like I was going to spend brain cells on that. I started reading.

"Alright class, here's the next scenario – your hero wants to wear black and green. You look best in yellow. What do you do?"

Really? Really? This is the education that superhero parents paid all that money for? They should definitely have some kind of separate tuition cost for students in the Sidekick classes. Maybe in the Hero classes, they were getting what they paid for, but definitely not on this side of the social stratosphere. Not that I was actually paying…yay, scholarship! I would have to ask Warren what kind of stuff they were learning in those Hero classes. Because this was just…silly.

"Now, I know some of you might not be taking this class seriously, but there will come a time in your future, when you will need to know this," Miss Watson continued. Did I have a guilty conscience, or was that last statement really aimed at me? I looked around to see if it could have been aimed at anybody else. Because doing that didn't make me look guilty, or anything. Right.

"We're going to be splitting up into small group discussions. I want _every_one to participate."

Okay, seriously, that time, I _know_ she looked at me when she said it. I sighed, and put the book back in my bag. For the first time in my life, I actually had a hero-praising comic book to read, and this happened. Figures.

Rex, Lenny, Alan, and I all sat together, so we just angled our desks towards each other. And then there was silence.

After a minute of no one talking, I had to say it. "Is it me, or is this the lamest Sidekick scenario we've had to think about yet?"

After looking to make sure Miss Watson was too far away to hear, Alan gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know – remember English class last week? Debating which catchphrase was better, Cowabunga or It's clobberin' time? Not exactly super awesome."

Miss Watson was starting to walk in our direction, so I quick started us off. "Well, if it's green they want, and you look good in yellow, shouldn't you just compromise, go with a greenish yellow color?"

Rex disagreed, "Not if the hero's always right. You have to go with what the hero wants."

"Who says the hero's always right? Maybe they look better in yellow, too." Lenny grinned.

"Please. Few people actually look good in yellow. Then again, if it's a neon green, not too many people look good in that, either," I added.

"Hey, I look good in anything," Lenny bragged.

"Pfft. Yeah, sure," Rex said, rolling his eyes. "It really doesn't matter what color you look good in. The hero's going to get whatever color he wants."

"What kind of hero wants to wear green, anyway? What is he, the Green Goblin?" I argued. And like that, it clicked. I could practically see the lightbulb turn on over my head. "Ohhhh."

The three guys looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

"Think about it," I said. "What colors does Captain America wear? Superman? Spider-Man?"

Lenny and Rex nodded as they figured it out. Alan summed it up, "America equates Heroes with patriotic colors."

"Name one supervillain who wears the red, white, and blue. Just doesn't happen," Rex pointed out.

"So if we value our hero's reputation, we push them away from the green and towards a red and blue color scheme," Alan concluded.

"Right. If we value our hero. So depending on who we get assigned to, maybe we agree with them on the idea of green and black," Lenny responded, his grin only slightly evil.

"But there are heroes who wear black," Rex argue. "Like the X-Men, when they fight as a unit."

My mind started wandering towards Wolverine in X-Men 2. "Yeah, depending on the hero, definitely push for the black leather. Mmmm," I sighed, dreamily.

The guys just stared at me. Rex shook his head. "Sorry, lost in a girl-moment," I apologized.

"But doesn't wearing black send the wrong message? Like, we're really the bad guys? Think about the X-Men's black costumes. It's not like the public welcomed mutants with open arms. It didn't matter if they were trying to destroy the world or save it. Wearing black leather didn't really help their cause," Alan argued.

"In the X-Men's case, the color of their uniforms didn't really matter, because everyone hated and feared them," Lenny countered. "Even bright colored spandex didn't get them a hero's welcome."

I tried to follow the conversation, I really did. But that spandex comment…yeah, my mind was wandering off again. Spandex. Tight hero costumes. Wolverine. Yum. But still, the black leather X-Men outfit was better. There was just something about black leather…and Wolverine. And Warren…

"Nevaeh, focus!" Alan called me back down to earth. "There's also Spider-Man. When he went all dark because of that alien goo, what color did it turn his uniform? That's right, black. And when he got rid of it and went back to being a good guy? Uniform reverts back to the red and blue."

We all had to agree on that one. Great. Miss Watson actually had us having a serious conversation about the color choice and coordination of superheroes. I really hadn't thought it was possible.

When it came time for Sidekick history, Mrs. Watson gave us a quick break to go get our books from our lockers. Crap. I didn't really want to run to my locker – Josh was still giving me the heebie jeebies (weird how I just couldn't trust him to keep up his end of the not-harassing-me bargain), and although I was starting to get into _Runaways_, my brain was too full of thoughts and guilt and I just wasn't ready to face Warren yet, either.

This, of course, meant I saw Warren right after I got my books from my locker.

I forced my thoughts away from the choices I had made recently and focused on easy, fluffy things. Focus. Good thoughts. Good thoughts. Like, Saturday, being able to work on my powers a little bit. Like, the irony of the universe aligning so that I ended up eating lunch with Stronghold, Layla, and the get-along gang. Like, having to take a class called Sidekick color coordination, and actually getting something out of it.

I smiled at Warren. "I managed to sneak in some reading during Sidekick color coordination, imagine that. So far, I like it. I understand why you gave it to me."

"I figured you would. I know you," Warren said, a strange little half-smile on his face as he stopped in front of me.

"Never thought you didn't," I replied. I mean, yes, there were things he didn't know about me, but he did get me, or at least the me that he saw. If that made any sense. "Shouldn't you be in class, learning all the great hero things, like how to diffuse bombs or build weather machines or something? I wanted to ask you, what the heck do you guys learn about in Hero classes anyway?"

"I had to take a break from class. All that learning." Warren moved his hand, like he was waving it away.

"Uh, yeah, you actually _like_ learning. Have I mentioned how weird that is? Maybe it's just because you guys get to learn all that cool hero stuff and we're left figuring out how to keep your color choice from making you look evil."

Warren gave me a you're-not-making-sense look.

"Long story. I'll tell you about it at work today. You're working, right? I mean, we both just took the weekend off from work, big Homecoming dance and crazy weekend and all, I figured you'd have to work today too, even though it's not your scheduled day. Not that I memorized your schedule or anything weird like that," I added with a nervous laugh. Crap. When will I learn to just stop talking? No need to babble, really.

Unfortunately, Warren didn't say anything. Oh, blast! He probably thought I was some crazy, psycho stalker. Even though I really didn't want to continue to prattle on, I still felt the need to explain. "I really don't have your schedule memorized. I just remembered because you told me. That one time," I finished, lamely. Yeah, really not making it any better.

But seriously, he could jump into the conversation any time, make me feel less like a loser here. "You do work today, right?"

Warren didn't say anything, just took a few more little steps towards me, definitely in my personal bubble at that point, and gave me a weird little half-smile.

"Warren?" Yeah, he had his quiet moments, but this was a little odd.

Then his hand was on my waist, guiding me back against the lockers.

Warren looked down at me. I looked at his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. I'd never been exactly forthcoming about my crush on Warren, but it wasn't exactly a well-kept secret either. Guys are dense, but surely he must have known something.

So what was his game here?

His hand came towards me and it looked like he might run a knuckle down the side of my face, but he stopped just short of actually touching my skin. His hand ended up on the locker behind me. He was leaning in, the lower half of his body touching mine.

His mouth was a breath away from mine now. He was going to kiss me.

Hesitating just before his lips actually touched mine, he held that position for a second. I closed my eyes, tilted my head slightly. A tiny sigh escaped.

A voice came over the P.A. system, "Sophomore Sidekicks, return to class." No. Way.

Warren was still in the same position, a breath away from actually kissing me. I looked at him, wondering if he'd finish what he'd started.

But no, he took a step back. Did a half-second eyebrow raise, turned, and started walking back to his Junior Hero class.

Are you kidding me?

What had the eyebrow-raise meant? Sorry we didn't get to finish? Another time? We'll pick this back up later?

My concentration was shot for the rest of the afternoon. What had that been all about? I mean, sure, we'd had a moment on Friday night, after the dance. But Saturday, we'd been our normal, friends self.

Not that I minded our normal, friends self. Would I bounce ecstatically through the roof like Tara if it ever became more than that? Hell yes. But if "just friends" was all I could get from Warren, I'd take that too. I've seen enough romantic comedies that there would always be that smidgen of hope that it would turn into something more, but I was happy enough being friends with Warren. I liked being friends with him – I couldn't explain why with words, but being friends with him made me happy. Gave me something to look forward to.

So what the hell was up with the almost-kiss?

When it came time for P.E., I pretty much stormed into the gym. Warren had some explaining to do. I scanned the bleachers, but didn't see him. Which meant I had just wasted a spectacularly pissed off entrance. Dang it.

"He's talking to Principal Powers," Tara said as she came up behind me. She walked towards the bleachers and I followed as she continued her explanation. "Powers wanted to talk to him and the rest of the Homecoming Heroes during Save the Citizen today."

"The Homecoming Heroes?"

"Yeah, people are actually calling them that," Tara said, smirking.

I expected her to join her group of friends. But instead, she bypassed them, heading back to the spot where her, Warren, and I had sat on Thursday.

"What are they talking about?" I asked, after we'd sat down.

"Can't be sure, but rumors say that there are going to be some big changes over the next week," Tara reported.

"Rumors? Like what? The Homecoming Heroes – I really can't believe I just used that phrase in a sentence AND kept a straight face – and moving them to Hero classes? What do they need Warren for? He's already in Hero classes."

"Nope," Tara replied. "Supposedly, the school is going to change their system. Rearrange all the classes."

I stared at her. Yes, I had wondered if this might happen, but for them to actually change things? This school had been on the Hero-Sidekick class division since like, the beginning of time. "So now what?"

* * *

Author's Note: First, I have to apologize. There really is no excuse for not updating for three and a half years, and I am sorry to have left it where I did. Good news is I have the rest of the story actually planned out. And I'm determined to finish it. No three year breaks.

Secondly, thanks to the reviewers. All those requests to finish this story (no, I'm not dead) have been running around in my head and finally got me back into writing mode. It makes me sad that I went three years without writing anything (not this or any other stories!), so thank you for the encouragements and prodding me back into writing. I've missed it.

Song lyrics are from Playing With the Big Boys from the Prince of Egypt soundtrack.


	27. Just Like a Dream Turned Out All Wrong

**Running for Home**

**Chapter Twenty-seven – Just Like a Dream Turned Out All Wrong**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am simply borrowing the wonderful characters and settings for my own enjoyment and amusement, and not for any profit.

* * *

Warren was an hour late for work. I don't know how long that meeting actually went on, but the longer I had to wait for him, the angrier I became. We were at a good place in our friendship. Why the heck had he gone and tried to mess it up? If I'd wanted it messed up, I could have tried to turn that moment we had on Friday night into something more. That would have been a perfect time to figure out if we were more than friends. Why had he waited until Monday at school, between my Sidekick classes, to try something like that?

The clock hit 5:35. What if he wasn't even coming in today? He'd never actually said he'd had to work today, I'd just assumed since we'd had most of the weekend off. Maybe he'd made up some shifts on Sunday. And I'd spend the rest of this shift working without him.

I was in the middle of working up the courage to ask Lisa or Mama Wu if Warren was working today, when he strolled in. Whistling. He nodded at me before heading into the back room to drop off his stuff.

Seriously? I gave up on the dishes as he walked back in.

"Guess who's one of the Homecoming Heroes?" he asked, grinning at me.

"What the hell?"

Warren stopped and looked around the room, double checking to make sure he hadn't done any hero-talking in front of non-supers. "What?"

"What? Really, that's all you have to say?" I knew he wasn't exactly on my thought-train, but still, if that almost-kiss had been on my mind all day, it damn well should've been on his mind too.

"I'll never use that nickname again?" Warren offered.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

"I do?" Warren asked, looking more confused by the minute.

"What the hell was up with the hallway this afternoon?"

"The hallway?" Warren repeated.

"Yeah, that stunt you pulled this afternoon. Was that some sick, twisted joke? News flash – not funny."

"What, giving you the comic book? I thought you'd like it. Maybe even, gee, I don't know, identify with it."

"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about after that."

"Tyler, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't seen you since lunch."

And like that, puzzle pieces fell into place. Warren really didn't know what I was talking about, because the guy in the hallway this afternoon – not Warren. He confirmed it, "A metamorph."

Shitake. Mushrooms.

Okay, now it was my turn to be confused. "There's what, two metamorphs at Sky High? I've never even talked to them. They have no idea who I am. Why would a metamorph pretend to be you just to mess with my head?"

And like that, having asked the question, it clicked.

Warren reached the same conclusion as me. "Josh. I'm gonna kill him."

"Not if I get to him first," I said. That…asshole. How had I not figured it out sooner? Seriously, Warren almost kissing me? I should have known right then. If I hadn't had such a big crush on Warren and wanted so badly for something like that to really happen, I would have realized that something was wrong with what had happened in the hallway. If I had just thought it through. Like Warren would have pulled a stunt like that.

And I ignored the little tweak in my heart that so wished it had been him.

"What did he do?" Warren growled.

I shook my head and turned back to the sink, not wanting to make eye contact. No way in hell was I about to tell him what Josh had done while impersonating Warren. No way in hell was I going to tell him that I actually believed it had been him who had almost kissed me.

That sick creep.

"Tyler, what did he do?" Warren asked again, his voice getting louder, deeper, angrier. He stood next to me at the sink, his arm brushing the metal platform where the newest dirty dishes were stacked. I realized he was starting to flame up when the metal of the sink grew hot.

"It's nothing. I'll deal with it," I said, trying to brush off the subject. Which was difficult. I was so angry I could feel my hands shaking.

I clenched my hands tight, trying to hide the outward sign of my fury. Of all the asshole moves to pull, Josh had to do that. I could handle almost anything else…but that…he'd found a vulnerable spot. And exploited it. It felt like a movie, where the person sticks their fingers in the other guy's bullet wound and digs.

"He was pretending to be me, obviously. What did he say to you?" Warren was tenacious, I had to give him that.

"Can we please just not talk about it? I'm pissed off and I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. How could I have thought Josh was you? Even for a second?" I ran my hands through my hair, trying to give them something to do other than shaking at my sides. Since they were still wet from the dishes, the move really didn't help the situation.

"Talk to me. Quit trying to hide things, and tell me what happened," Warren said.

"Warren, I'm not trying to hide anything. I'm just embarrassed, and pissed off, and did I mention embarrassed?"

"Why are you embarrassed?"

I wished he'd just let it go. However, if the situation was reversed, and someone had impersonated me, I'd be just as determined to figure out what had happened. But tell Warren I thought he'd tried to kiss me? Nope, not happening. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to tell him. Enough so I wouldn't be lying, but less than would cause me to die of embarrassment.

"It was just for a minute between classes. He said some weird things, like, he knew me. And I thought it was you, but you were…different." There. That should do it. Pretty much what Josh had said, and he _had_ been acting odd.

"What did he say to make you think he knew you?"

"He actually said he knew me. I'd mentioned the comic book." I thought about it for a second. "And he had no idea what I was talking about it, so he just said some stupid thing about knowing what I'd like or knowing me well. Kind of creepy, now that I know it was him."

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing. That was pretty much it." Well, it was mostly true. He hadn't _said_ much else.

"And that's caused you to be this embarrassed?" The look Warren gave me said he still doubted my story.

I sighed, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. "I really thought it was you. That's what's so embarrassing. He said something strange about being tired of class, which I knew didn't sound like you, and I still thought it was you. On TV, when they're dealing with a shapeshifter or ghost-possession or something, they always know the possessed person isn't actually their friend. They just know. And I didn't. I didn't have a freaking clue." How could I not tell Warren from a fake-Warren? Was I just stupid? I would so fail if this was a TV show.

"This is real life, not Hollywood. You couldn't have known he'd do something like this. I'll take care of Josh tomorrow." Now that Warren had a satisfactory answer, he was ready to move from Curious Warren to Vengeful Warren. The look on his face reminded me more of when we'd first met than the Warren I'd come to know over the past few weeks.

"You can't," I said. "It'll just piss him off, and then he'll tell people who I am."

"So you're just going to let him intimidate you?"

And this was the look I hadn't wanted to see on Warren's face. The look that said he clearly didn't understand how I could let someone push me around. The look that said he didn't understand why I wouldn't stand up for myself. I felt like a coward.

"I don't have a choice right now, Warren. Not a lot of options."

Warren paused for a moment before he said, "If you told people who you were, he'd have nothing on you."

If only it were last week and it was still that simple. Not that that situation had ever really been simple. But simpler than the current Mexican standoff Josh and I were in. Warren couldn't find out about any of that. He'd think even less of me than he seemed to be thinking right now. Like just having a secret identity hadn't been complicated enough. Always worrying about my reactions and facial expressions and whether or not someone would recognize me. And thinking about that reminded me of why I'd needed a secret identity. "I can't tell people who I am. You know that."

"Because you think you helped your parents commit their crimes? That's bullshit. You didn't do anything that day. Not on purpose."

"Because I helped kill some of our classmates' parents. Even if you don't agree, and even if I'm starting to believe it, there are still three kids at our school whose parents were killed by mine. Not to mention all the other supers in Maxville who must hate my parents."

"You're not them, you're not responsible for what they did."

Oh God, I wanted to believe that. My life would be so much easier if it was all out in the open. If I didn't have to keep my secrets, or Josh's. "Every other day, we talk about the trial in class. About what my parents did, what I did. And even if you accept that I'm not responsible for my parent's crimes, even if half of my class accepts that idea, there's still that other half that thinks I'm as responsible for killing all those supers as Dynamite and Heartthrob."

Warren still didn't get it. "If you don't believe it, then who cares what everyone else thinks?"

How could I make him understand what these last weeks had meant to me? "Warren, what if you could go someplace where no one knows who your father is and what he's done? If you could just be you, and not be known as Baron Battle's son. I might not be able to use my real name or use my real powers, but by not being Jenny Conway, I'm able to actually be me. And be known for who I am, without all that extra crap that surrounds the Conway name."

Warren looked like he might be starting to see things from my perspective. "Okay. It still sucks that in order to be yourself, you can't be you."

"Yeah, the whole secret-thing hasn't really been working out for me lately," I said. And being reminded of what had started this whole conversation, I added, "Don't try to talk to Josh. That'll just piss him off. I'll talk to him, he'll get his little thrill out of knowing he tricked me, and it'll be over."

"And what's to stop him from doing this the next time he gets bored?"

Good question. Shitake mushrooms, having one fake almost-kiss had been humiliating enough. If Josh made a game out of this, I was screwed. "Uh, I have a feeling asking him nicely isn't going to work."

"And I can't burn him to a crisp."

"I'd like to say that next time, I'll be able to tell the difference between you and Josh pretending to be you…" But clearly, hoping for the best was not a viable strategy. "We can't be the only supers in the world to ever encounter a shapeshifter problem. They must have had some way to deal with it."

Warren was deep in thought and I wasn't even sure he was really listening to me at this point. "Code words," he said, nodding his head. "We need some kind of code."

"Like a secret handshake?"

Warren shook his head. "If you start to doubt that I'm me, we'll have a phrase. And an answer, so we know neither of us is Josh. It'll be like the security questions that websites set up in case you forget your password."

I thought about the stupid questions that my email asked me. "What elementary school did you go to?"

Warren gave me a look. "That's the best you could do?"

"Fine, you think of something."

"How about this: What time will the horse arrive? And the other person will answer: Superman wears tights."

It was my turn to give him a look. "I feel like I'm in a bad spy movie. And be careful about the tights comment – what if you have to wear them someday?"

"I'm _not_ going to become a tights-wearing hero."

"You never know, it might be like all those little kids who think they're going to grow up to be football stars and instead work a desk job. Hey, football players wear tights too. Maybe wearing tights isn't such a bad thing."

"They're not tights," Warren said. Really, it was more of a growl. "And if you think wearing tights is so great, does that mean you're going to run out after high school and buy a spandex suit to wear while you fight crime?"

"Oh yeah, I can't wait for that. We even discussed it in class today. I'm thinking of going for neon yellow."

"Bright enough to hurt the eyes?" Warren laughed.

"Is there any other shade?" I asked, grinning.

"And now we have our code."

"What? Neon yellow spandex?"

"And Superman wears tights," Warren said, confirming the end of the code.

I looked at him. "I feel like a nerdy fifth-grader, setting up a secret clubhouse."

"At least it will be a clubhouse that Josh can't trick his way into."

No argument there. And I felt better now, knowing that Josh wouldn't be able to pull any more stupid stunts like making me think he was Warren. Other stupid stunts, yes. I had no doubt Josh would come up with something else as evilly appropriate. I don't think he understood the concept of our Mexican standoff. He should've been leaving me alone. I wouldn't tell what he'd done, and he wouldn't tell what he knew. Maybe I needed to remind him that he wasn't supposed to still be playing these games. I just wasn't quite sure how to go about doing that.

Lisa came in then, and spotting Warren, tossed a glare his way. "Now that you're finally here, how about you do your job so I don't have to?" She threw the dirty dishes tub onto a counter and flounced back out.

"Oops," I said, feeling sheepish because I'd totally forgotten that he'd already been pretty late to work when he'd come in and I'd ambushed him. But speaking of him being late… "What happened with Principal Powers today?"

Warren smiled as he tied on his apron. "You mean when she called us Homecoming Heroes into her office?"

"Really, you're actually going to start calling yourself that?"

"Naw, I just wanted to see what you'd say when I did," he said.

"Yeah, Tara already told me about the nickname during Save the Citizen. You know, when you weren't there."

He grabbed a clean tub to take out into the dining area. "Me and Stronghold and the rest had to meet with Principal Powers during P.E."

"Again, something Tara already told me." I leaned back against the sink, ignoring the water on the metal that seeped into the back of my shirt. In the grand scheme of things going on today, a wet spot on the back of my shirt ranked pretty low.

"Principal Powers and some of the teachers were there, both hero and sidekick. They asked us a bunch of questions about how we worked together at Homecoming."

"They just asked about your teamwork? That's it? And it took that long? What did they want to know?"

Warren shrugged. "Stuff like how Ethan turned into a puddle and was able to slow down Speed enough for me to finally hit him. And how Glowstick was able to lead us through the air vent. Magenta fixing the anti-gravity tech. Then they went and had a teachers' meeting, but we'd missed the bus, so we had to wait for them to finish. Ms. Grey, the sophomore hero teacher, gave us a ride back down in her aircar."

"I thought you guys were supposed to be in on that meeting about revolutionizing the education at Sky High. Big changes and all that," I complained, more than a little disappointed that Warren didn't have anything to add to those rumors that Tara had mentioned.

Warren shrugged. "Maybe they'll start having people work in pairs, like Commander and Jetstream. Or we'll pair up with our sidekick or hero now, instead of waiting till graduation."

"Great. With my luck, I'd end up paired with Spitfire's kid or Jillian Lockwood or someone else whose life was destroyed by my parents."

"Could be worse. They might pair you up with that kid who turns into a bouncy ball."

"Hey, being one of the Homecoming Heroes, you should know better than anyone that she could be a very…powerful ally someday."

He grinned, nodding at me, "You just called me a Homecoming Hero."

"Shut up, you know what I meant."

"That name's going to stick," he said as he grabbed the tub and left.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to my reviewers, new and old: RedRaven1994, Alice Rose Winter, Spyro Flavord Skittles, mergirl007, Talis Ruadair, Closed Doors, LilMizFireGirl, Aleesh, Abby, VanityMirror, SandShinobi21, AikoRose, Charm1997, KeiGinya, dokuki, Vaughn Tyler, whointheworldwouldbelievethat, DamnBlackHeart, serenitylovegod, CrippledSoul, and Haruka Munashii

Song lyrics are from Boomerang by Steven Strait :)


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